


Always

by firemaiden04



Series: The Pearl [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is a sweetheart, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, DA2 Kinda Canon Compliant, DA:I Not Even a Little Canon Compliant, DA:O Fairly Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, NSFW, Now with smut!, Oral Sex, Sexy Zevran, Solavellan Angst, This is going to be soooo smutty, Violence, Zevran being Zevran, Zevran would be so fantastic in bed, Zevran would be the BEST friend-with-benefits, dirty talking, more tags to come, oh the angst, strip club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firemaiden04/pseuds/firemaiden04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellana Lavellan is an exotic dancer at the Pearl, the strip club owned by her long-time friend (and friend-with-benefits) Zevran Arainai.  She enjoys her job, her sex with Zevran, and her best friend Dorian, but there's still something missing.  Years ago, she fell desperately in love with an apostate named Solas, who vanished suddenly, taking with him all her heart and all her self-respect-as well as a secret that could destroy her.  Current events in Thedas are troubled: Venatori terrorists are striking more and more frequently, and negative public sentiment against mages after Kirkwall has Ellana and Dorian nervous and unsettled.  But a mysterious mage has appeared, combating the Venatori, who bears a striking resemblance to the Elvhen god Fen'Harel...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ellana Lavellan sat in front of her vanity and peered closely at herself in the mirror.  It was late Friday afternoon in Denerim and her dressing room was awash in sunlight, but her makeup was applied heavily enough to be seen at midnight in the darkest alley.  She closely examined her eyes, then picked up a tube of black liquid eyeliner and very carefully evened out the precise line on one eye.  Then she sat back, evaluated the result, and finally satisfied, picked up her mascara—the last step in her ritual.  She was a perfectionist, and wouldn’t countenance a half-assed makeup job.  Fifteen minutes later when she walked out of her luxury apartment with her large bag, she was a vision.  A nice bronze tan, straight gold hair to her waist, perfectly contoured eyes in several shades of plum (matching the muted plum of her vallaslin, which also served to set off her vivid green eyes), lush pink lips, pristine foundation that was undetectable to the human eye, and large (fake) diamond earrings sparkling on each pointed ear.  No necklace—they tended to get tangled in her hair, hang in people’s faces, and otherwise be a nuisance.  As she exited the building, the doorman gave her a large smile which she returned.  Ellana was beautiful—really, an absolute stunner—and she tended to catch big smiles from most men (and women) who weren’t anti-Dalish racist pricks.  She hopped in her car and drove to work.

On her way, she turned on FPR (Ferelden Public Radio) to listen to the news.  “After the heated talks between Orlais, Ferelden, and Tevinter came to a close today, no side showed signs of relenting.  ‘As long as the Imperium refuses to acknowledge or address the growing danger of the unchecked Venatori, we will be unable to reach an agreement,’ said Empress Celene.  King Alistair returned to the capital today, but refused to address rumors that the plans for the Conclave, scheduled for next month, have stalled due to concerns of a Venatori terrorist attack.  In other news, reports that the wanted apostate Anders had been spotted in Val Royeaux turned out to be unfounded.  Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had this to say: ‘We want to remind the public that Anders, in addition to being a very powerful mage, is also possessed by a former spirit of Justice which he warped into Vengeance with his anger.  He cannot be reasoned with and should be considered very dangerous.  If sighted, do not approach him, but contact the local Templar Order—.’” Ellana switched the radio off with a shaking hand and drove the rest of the way in silence.

When she walked into work, it was nearly thirty minutes before the shift change, but Ellana was always early.  She quickly dashed upstairs into the dressing room and set her bag down at her usual vanity, then began to change.  It was Friday night, and there were lots of conventions in town, so it promised to be busy.  The more time spent on the floor, the more money she would make.  She changed swiftly, and within five minutes had put on her outfit—a black g-string with a band of large silver sequins, a pretty black bra lightly studded with silver rhinestones, a black dress that ended well above the knee, and her 6-inch plastic heels.  She grabbed the small silver sequin wristlet that carried her blotting papers, her lipstick, her mints, and would later carry all her money, and then made her way to the floor.

Ellana was an exotic dancer at the Pearl, the best strip club in town, and she was ready for her shift.

First thing she did after walking downstairs was go check in with the DJ in his booth.  He was announcing one of the dayshift girls, so she waited patiently for him to finish his spiel.  When he finished, he swung around in his chair and grinned at her.  He was short—like all dwarves—and clean shaven, with his hair pulled back in his usual little ponytail.  Ellana liked to give it a tug whenever she was walking by and caught him unawares. 

“Hey kid, how’s it going?  Ready for the shit show tonight?”  He quickly jotted her stage name (“Evelyn”) down on the roster at his elbow.

“Hey, Varric.  Why is it a shit show?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Well, three of the girls have already called out, and I’d bet money that there’ll be more than that not showing up at all.  We’ve got all kinds of big parties booked for VIP, but with this many girls calling out, we’re going to be short-staffed.”

Ellana stared.  “But there’s like six conventions in town!  It’s like you’re _guaranteed_ to bank just by walking in the door!”

Varric shrugged.  “Lazy.  They’re all lazy.”

Ellana shook her head.  “I don’t fucking get it, Varric.  Don’t these girls want to make money?  Don’t they _need_ to make money?”

Varric gave her a look.  “Now, kid, you know as well as I do that half these girls spend more time drinking at the bar than working the floor, and most of them are less concerned with making their own money than finding a guy who will let them move in ASAP so they don’t have to pay for their own place.”

Ellana shuddered delicately.  “I can honestly say I have not met one single man—or woman—who has _ever_ made me want to sacrifice my own space.  I like having my own place, thank you very much.”

Varric raised an eyebrow.  “Not one man?”

_Only one_ , thought Ellana, but she ruthlessly quashed that thought and repeated herself resolutely.  “Not one.”

Varric smirked at her before turning back to his station.  “If you say so, kid.  Wanna pick out your music while you’re here?  On a scale of Alice in Chains to Static-X, how heavy are you feeling tonight?”

Ellana grinned at him.  “Oh, I think it’s a Static-X sort of night, Varric.”

 

There were four girls ahead of her in the stage rotation, so Ellana took the opportunity to scout out the floor and see what she had to work with.  Not too busy yet, but the sun had only just set; there was plenty of time.  Isabela was busy behind the bar, and they waved to each other as Ellana walked by. 

She’d just given a quick table dance to a middle-aged merchant and was walking towards the back when two already drunk dock workers suddenly stepped into her path.  She opened her mouth, but before a word could escape her, one of them slurred, “How much for a blow job?”

Ellana stared.  “Excuse me?”

“C’mon, how much?  I know you girls give it up every night.  How much?”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed and her face turned dark.  “This is a strip club.  Not a brothel.  If you’re looking for that, go somewhere else.”

The second one chortled as the first one scoffed.  “Not having some knife-ear bitch giving me that shit.  You think I don’t know that’s how you make your money?  How fuckin’ much?”

Before Ellana could say another word, she felt a presence, and a deep voice asked mildly, “Problem, boss?” She glanced up—and up—and up, at the hulking Qunari bouncer that had appeared on her left. 

The second one blanched as he took in the newcomer to the conversation.  He grabbed his friend’s arm, but he only angrily shrugged it off.  “Boss, eh?  Think I’m stupid?  No fuckin’ way this place is run by this knife-ear.”

“No,” said yet another voice.  “It’s run by _this_ knife-ear.”

Ellana hid a smile and turned to her right.  Her boss tossed his silvery-blonde hair back and gave a flamboyant bow.  “Zevran Arainai, owner of the Pearl, at your service.  I can see you have offended one of my dearest friends, and I am afraid I must ask you to leave.”

The second man held his hands out in a conciliatory manner, but the first one was too far gone.  “Or _what_?”

“Or,” Zevran replied, with a grin and a flourish towards the bouncer, “my _other_ dear friend the Iron Bull will _make_ you leave.  I can promise you it would be quite painful, though it _would_ give us something to talk of for the rest of the night.  So, truly, it is up to you.”

The first man finally absorbed his situation.  “Bah,” he spat, “I can get better than these bitches for cheaper at the docks.”

“Well, my friend, you can certainly try,” Zevran said coolly, and gave Bull a meaningful look before catching Ellana’s arm and steering her away. 

“And on _that_ note, my beauty, how are you feeling tonight?  Are you ready to carry the entire club on your shoulders?”

Ellana rolled her eyes.  “Come on, Zev, it’s not that bad.”

“I beg to differ, my love, it _is_ that bad.  Friday night, six conventions in town, and you were already the biggest draw on the roster for tonight…and now we’ve had five girls call off.”

“Varric said there were three.”

“He didn’t know about the other two,” Zev said grimly.  “I got texts from them twenty minutes ago.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Ellana said disgustedly, shaking her head. 

“I know, I know.  But you’re up to it, aren’t you, darling?”

Ellana cocked an eyebrow at him.  “It appears I don’t have much of a choice.”

Zev gave her his most charming smile.  “It is true that you do not have much of a choice, but it is because you are the most beautiful, the most effervescent, the most appealing, the most engaging, the most—“

Ellana laughed and gave him a playful push.  “All right, all right, Zev, I get it.”

Zev leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.  “Do your magic, my love.  They’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.  And I’ll be sure to steer any big spenders to your next stage set.”

Ellana threw him a parting grin over her shoulder as she walked away.  “You do that anyways.”

 

Ellana managed to sell six private dances before her first stage set began, and they were all generous tippers, so she was in a cheerful mood and already several hundred dollars richer when she finally made her way into the back to make her stage entrance.  The club had gotten very busy in the past half hour, and she was pleased to see that Zev had indeed begun to show some promising-looking patrons to the seating at the stage.  As Varric made the final announcement about the girl on stage as she did her last tip run, Ellana pulled her lipstick and blotting papers out of her wristlet and quickly touched herself up in the small mirror they kept hanging next to the stage entrance just for that purpose. 

Iron Bull poked his head around the corner.  “Hey boss, your regular is here.”

“Which one?” Ellana laughed.

Bull just grinned at her.  “You’ll see,” he said, then ducked out again.

Before she could call after him, the curtains to the stage parted and the dancer came offstage, topless, glistening with sweat, and clutching her bikini top and dress in one hand and a very large haphazard wad of dollar bills in the other.  Yet more money was stuffed into the sides of her g-string. 

“Good tippers,” she panted to Ellana.  “But Maker, those lights are killer tonight.  I’m sweating my tits off.  And watch out for the guy at the corner in the red shirt, he’s a grabber.  Tried to pull my g off.”

“Okay, thanks, I will,” said Ellana, and the other dancer walked down the small hall to the stairs that led up to the dressing room, plastic shoes clunking against the floor.

Varric’s voice came on the speakers.  “All right, gentlemen, here is the moment you have all been waiting for.  Time to open those wallets for our top rated dancer, our Jewel of the Pearl for three years running; the Dalish beauty, the blonde bombshell, the ravishing rocker, I give you— _Evelyn_!”

The opening riff of Static-X’s “Push It” thundered through the club as Ellana strode through the curtains to the stage.  It was a magnificent setup, the best stage she’d seen at any strip club she’d worked at.  It ran nearly thirty feet forty feet along the wall and a wide catwalk in the middle jutted out into the center of the club.  There was a pole at either end of the main stage, and another on the catwalk.  The whole thing was raised about three feet off the ground, and seating ran along the entire setup, with the most popular chairs being along either side of the catwalk.  Balconies on the second floor, where the VIP rooms were located, overlooked the stage on either side.  The lights were flashing, and Varric had knowingly turned on the black lights (Ellana’s blonde hair, and the silver sequins on the band of her g-string, glowed under black lights, and she loved to glow onstage).  There was a small fan built into the floor at the end of the catwalk, which made her hair blow back gently in a nicely dramatic fashion, and had the added benefit of cooling her down whenever she needed it. She dropped her wristlet just beside the curtain and slowly made her way forward, hips swaying, surreptitiously eyeing all the customers sitting at her stage.  She saw Red Shirt at the corner of the catwalk, already dangling a one dollar bill at her, as though a single dollar was any kind of temptation when other customers were already pulling out twenties.  She smiled to herself as she went into her typical routine.

Ellana’s style of dancing was basically a lot of sexy poses and stretches linked smoothly together, and the faster the music, the slower she moved.  The one exception was her pole dancing, where she could spin quite fast indeed.

After “Push It” was over, Varric smoothly transitioned into “Wish” by Nine Inch Nails, and then into “This Love” by Pantera, taking each segue as an opportunity to reiterate to the customers to tip big.  Her stage was littered with money, and she was happy to see some tens and twenties mixed in with the usual singles.  She’d also had money tucked into the sides of her g-string, including a fifty from a very unassuming young guy who had taken the opportunity to ask for some dances when she got off stage.  Her dress had come off at the end of the first song, and her top midway through the second.  As she moved, she observed her reflection in the full length mirror that ran down the entire stage wall. She was quite happy with the way she looked.  She was fairly busty for a Dalish girl, and her hips were also wider than was typical, but her waist was narrow and her legs looked like they went for miles with the addition of the six-inch shoes.  She had the ultimate hourglass figure, and the dancing only served to tone and tighten; no need for gym visits in order to keep in shape, since her job served just that purpose, with the added benefit of earning her major money. 

As “This Love” came to an end, Varric made his final announcement for the men at the stage to tip, and cued the break song.  Ellana began her final tip run, collecting last-minute money.  As she moved along the stage, she saw a man approach the end, but she couldn’t make him out with the lights flashing in her eyes.  She continued her tip run, and when she cleared the catwalk, she suddenly realized who he was.

He was tall and handsome, with well-groomed dark blonde hair, tanned skin, and a shadow of stubble along his jaw.  He was well-dressed in expensive black slacks and a button-down slate grey shirt with no tie.  His posture was impeccable, which would normally denote warrior training, which in this case was accurate—but of course, there was another reason for the regal stance.

Ellana came to stand in front of him.  Ignoring the customers on either side who had begun to recognize him and were nudging each other and pointing with awed faces, she leaned over the edge of the stage and gave him a tight hug, uncaring that she was topless or sweaty.  After a long moment, she pulled away, but left her hands on his shoulders as she looked into his face.

“Alistair!” she beamed.

He held up a large iced drink in a Starbucks cup.  “I brought you a strawberry refresher,” he said winningly.

Ellana’s smile couldn’t get any wider.  “I’ve missed you!!! I’m so glad you’re back!”

He grinned.  “Just got back this afternoon, but I couldn’t wait to see you.”  He swiftly tucked a few crisp hundred dollar bills into the side of her g-string.  “I already checked in with Zev.  I’ve got our usual room upstairs.  I and your drink will be waiting for you.”  He stepped back, and Ellana rushed through her last few customers. 

The last customer tucked a twenty into her g-string and asked her in an awed voice, “Was that _really_ the king?”

Ellana pretended not to hear as she moved away from him and hurriedly gathered up the money littering her stage before exiting through the curtain.

The next dancer was leaning against the mirror, tapping her foot and looking very unimpressed with Ellana’s truly impressive haul, which was cradled to her chest in a pile of bills.  Ellana completely ignored her; if there was any dancer she disliked, it was Briala.  The Iron Bull poked his head around the corner and grinned at her.

“I _told_ you your regular was here.”

Ellana laughed at him.  “I have dozens of regulars, but there’s only one Alistair.  He’ll likely have a drink for you ready, if Zev’ll let you have one.”

“Thanks, boss,” Bull rumbled, then disappeared.

Ellana started towards the stairs.  As she passed Briala, the auburn-haired elf asked, “Ever fuck him?”

Ellana stopped and turned to give her a nasty look.  “Fuck who?”

“Bull.”

Ellana’s eyes narrowed.  “No.”

Briala examined a red nail with a look of indifference.  “Why not?”

“Because he’s dating my best friend, that’s _why not_.  Mind your own fucking business.”  And she turned back around and went up the stairs.  She needed to wipe herself down, touch up her makeup, and change; the King of Ferelden was waiting for her in VIP, and petty bitches aside, it was looking to be a great night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is going to be fun to write! I don't know why AU-Modern Setting seems so much easier to write for me, but here we are. This will likely update in long chapters, but I doubt I'll hear complaints. First smut scenes will probably be in chapter three, which is already halfway written. Maybe chapter four if chapter two ends up way longer than I intend it to be and I have to divide it up. The smut itself is written, and boy, is it GOOD. Even gives me shivers reading it, and I wrote it.
> 
> I was an exotic dancer for more than five years, so the details about dancing and club life are pretty spot-on. God, I miss it. Except the money dried up in my area, so now I work management in retail for double the hours that I used to dance. Oh well, at least it's consistent and looks good on a resume.
> 
> Sountrack:  
> "Push It" - Static-X  
> "Wish" - Nine Inch Nails  
> "This Love" - Pantera


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has to make nice with some customers before she gets to join Alistair in VIP

Ellana patted herself dry with paper towels in the dressing room, then took out a small container of cornstarch, flipped her hair over, and applied a small amount to the roots to absorb the sweat.  She brushed her hair until it was tangle-free and shining, then changed into a floor-length black gown with a slit on one side going up to the extreme upper-thigh.  She touched up her lipstick, grabbed her wristlet and made her way back downstairs before Briala’s first song had even ended.  She felt a certain amount of petty satisfaction when she noticed that Briala’s stage was considerably less crowded than her own had been.

The young customer who had tipped her a fifty was waiting politely near the bar, smiling at her.  She smiled back, then glanced over at the entrance to VIP across the room, where she caught Zevran’s eye.  She lifted up one finger, and he nodded and reciprocated, then disappeared upstairs, presumably to occupy Alistair until she was finished.  She was very excited to see the king, but it went against her nature to snub a customer who was both a generous tipper _and_ very nice and polite.  Alistair would have to wait.

She joined the young man at the bar, who gave her a wide, but somewhat nervous smile.  He opened his mouth but seemed unsure of what to say, so Ellana filled in the gap smoothly.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” she exclaimed, and lightly rested one hand on his arm as she sat on a bar stool. 

His eyes gave her a quick up-and-down.  “ _Wow_.  Nice dress.”

“Thank you,” she said graciously.

“Um…would you like a drink before we start?”

“I would _love_ a drink, thank you, darling,” she cooed, and caught Isabela’s eye.  The busty brunette sauntered over and gave Ellana a wink. 

“Buying the lovely Evelyn a drink?  What would you two like?”

Ellana had a few “code” drinks with Isabela.  If she ordered her “usual,” it was a drink designed to look like a generic fruity mixed drink that was in reality only sprite and grenadine.  If she ordered her “usual martini,” it was a martini glass with water and a significant amount of olive juice to simulate a dirty Grey Goose martini (she only bought this when a customer was irritating her and she wanted to stick it to him with the cost—she had to have it dirty because the first few times, she’d forgotten to pretend it was vodka and had gulped the water down in two seconds, leaving the customer gaping at her).  If she ordered anything else, the order would stand. 

Ellana glanced up at her customer.  “Would you like to take a shot with me?”

“ _Yeah!_ That’d be great!”

Ellana and Isabela grinned at each other.  “Ever done an Elvhen Car Bomb?”

“No…what is it?”

Ellana explained, “It’s half a glass of Guinness with a shot glass that’s half Jameson, half Baileys.  You drop the shot in the Guinness and chug.”

Isabela leaned on the bar (conveniently flashing a considerable amount of cleavage) and gave the customer a flirty look.  “And there’s a Challenge, too.  Here’s the deal.  If you finish yours _before_ Evelyn, then they’re both on the house.  If she beats you, then you pony up for both.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll try it!”

“Coming right up,” Isabela said, with another wink at Ellana, and went to make them.

The customer leaned towards her.  “I have to say, I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.  And your taste in music is _awesome_.”

Ellana smiled up at him.  “Thank you.  I’m into the pretty heavy stuff.  I just can’t dance to _this_ shit on stage,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the truly terrible Orlesian pop music Briala had picked for her set. 

He hesitated.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Your tattoos…what are they called?  Vallaslin?  What do they mean?”  His hand lifted and almost, but not quite, brushed her face where her marks were.  The branches started under her eyes on both sides, then traced gracefully over and up to end at her temples.

Ellana got the same question probably five times a night.  “We get them when we come of age.  I chose mine to honor Mythal All-Mother, our Protector and Goddess of Love.  The Keeper applies them, and we have to remain completely silent through the pain, or we are not deemed worthy.”

“And only Dalish elves get them, right?  Not alienage ones?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So you’re not from Denerim, then.”

Ellana shook her head.  “No, my clan travelled the Free Marches.”

“What made you come to Ferelden?”

His questions were coming a little too close to a sensitive subject.  “I used to live in Kirkwall,” she said shortly.

The man drew a breath.  “Oh.  I’m sorry.”  He did not ask for any more explanations.  They never did, once she mentioned Kirkwall.  Everyone knew what had happened there.  Of course, it was only half of the truth, but only a very few people in her life knew the rest.

She shook off the pall of gloom threatening to descend and straightened up when she saw Isabela.  “Ah!  Our drinks!” she said brightly. 

Isabela set a half-full glass of Guinness and a shot glass of Jameson and Baileys in front of each of them and stepped back, grinning.  Ellana pulled them towards her and lifted the shot, holding it ready over the glass.  The customer mimicked her.

“So…I just drop it in?”

Ellana nodded.  “And drink it fast.”

“ _Ready_?” Isabela questioned.  They both nodded.  “All right, on my count.  One…Two… _Three!_ ”

Ellana’s entire drink was gone in less than five seconds.

In more than double that time, the customer set his empty glass down on the bar, shot glass clinking around on the inside.  “Wow,” he said, a little breathless.  “You really just drank that whole thing?”

Ellana primly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.  Isabela couldn’t stop grinning.  “That’ll be eighteen dollars.” 

He laughed.  “I have to say, that was pretty hot.  Put it on my tab,” he added to Isabela, who nodded.

Ellana balled up her napkin and looked at him coquettishly.  “Ready for some dances?”

“Absolutely,” he said decisively, and stood up.  “Can we start with four?”

 _Four!_ Ellana was pleased to be making money, but oh, poor Alistair.  She had truly missed him desperately, and aside from the fact that she always banked when Alistair came in, she genuinely loved being around him.  She mentally resigned herself to at least another fifteen minutes with her eager customer as she stood and led him to the private dance rooms.

 

It ended up being more than twenty minutes before she finally made her escape and made a beeline up to the VIP rooms, pretending not to see a few customers trying to flag her down.  Normally, she’d be happy to work the floor, but it always happened this way: nothing made you more money than being _seen_ making money.  She figured quite a bit of her popularity tonight had to do with Alistair.  And really, she’d have been busy all night anyways.  She chuckled as she started up the staircase to VIP; poor Zevran would basically be down a dancer now, at least in terms of stage sets and working the room, because she’d likely be ensconced in VIP with Alistair for the rest of the night. 

Alistair always had the same VIP room, the largest and nicest, and also the one furthest away from the stairs—it prevented prying eyes and customers or dancers “accidentally” wandering into the wrong room in an attempt to catch a glimpse.  More than once, a jealous and desperate dancer had barged in and attempted to climb into his lap and had to be removed by Bull or another bouncer.  It was a small room with a plush sectional along two walls, a low coffee table, and a balcony overseeing the stage.  It was lit with the same low blue lights as every VIP room and enclosed with long opaque purple curtains at the entrance; there were also semi-transparent drapes along the balcony that could be opened or closed as desired.  Nothing weirder than being in VIP with a guest and noticing half the customers at the stage below staring up at you. 

Sten was working VIP tonight.  When he saw her, he gestured at the correct room, and Ellana gave him a nod.  Sten was a Qunari of few words. 

When she entered VIP, an apology on her lips for the delay, it was to find champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes waiting on the table, as well as her slightly-watered-down Starbucks drink, a couple of discreet bags, and Alistair sitting on the sectional catty-corner to Zevran, both leaning forward with their elbows on their knees and talking intently.  She paused for just a moment to appreciate the view: Alistair, shirt sleeves rolled back to show his strong forearms, hands dangling between his knees, dark blonde hair slightly mussed as though he’d just run his hand through it; Zevran, blonde hair hanging down his back, fingers flexing as he gesticulated something to Alistair (and Ellana knew well how very nimble those fingers were). 

After a moment, Alistair noticed her presence, and the pensive expression on his face was immediately replaced with joy.  Zevran, noting his distraction, turned his head to see Ellana, and both of them rose to greet her.  Alistair held his arms open, and laughing, Ellana tossed her wristlet somewhere in the vicinity of the couch and ran to him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist in a full-body hug he was more than happy to receive.  He wrapped his arms tightly around her as she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Maker, I’ve missed you,” he said softly, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. 

“And on _that_ note, I will leave you two to your own devices,” Zevran said, moving to the exit.  “I should really let you have it for stealing my best girl away on such a busy night, Your Majesty, but I have a soft spot for your truly remarkable physique, so I shall let it slide.”  He gave them both a lascivious wink before he went through the curtains.  “And try not to wear each other out, yes?”

Alistair shook his head as he set carefully set Ellana back down.  “You’d think after so long, he’d tone it down.”

Ellana grinned.  “I don’t think there’s anything about Zev that _can_ be toned down.  He’d be like that on his worst day.”

Alistair looked her up and down.  “ _Maker_ ,” he breathed.  “That’s some dress.”

Ellana took a step back and put her arms out at her sides.  “You like it?” she asked.  “I figured that since I’m meeting with the king, I might as well wear something regal.”

Alistair held up a finger.  “On _that_ note,” he said, and went to the bags sitting next to that table.  “I brought you something from Val Royeaux.  Well, more than one thing.”

Ellana watched as he brought out not one, not two, but _three_ items.  One was a very promising-looking pale lilac shoebox with “Jimmy Choo” stamped on it, one was a small box in iconic Tiffany blue with a white ribbon, and the third was a nondescript paper gift bag with “Lush” printed on the side.

“Oh, Alistair,” she breathed, and sank onto the couch as he passed them to her one at a time.  The Lush bag was a collection of her soaps and bath melts, all in her favorite lemon scents.  The Tiffany box contained a beautiful pair of black pearl stud earrings.  And the Jimmy Choo box held a pair of truly fabulous white suede pumps studded with crystals.

She held her treasure trove of gifts in her lap and looked up at him, speechless.  “I told you I’ve missed you,” he said with a small smile. 

“I…I actually don’t know what to say,” she stammered.  “You know you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to _buy_ me anything—“

“I wanted to,” he said mildly.  “Maker knows you’re the only woman I have to spend my money on.  It’s a nice feeling to have.  There I was, in Val Royeaux, surrounded by those Orlesian peacocks and getting the _weirdest_ sexual propositions from them—I mean, really, they’ve got some weird fetishes over there—and all I could think was that I know a girl in Denerim that outshines all of them on every level.”

There it was.  The guilt.  It almost never showed up—Ellana was a professional, this was her _job_ , and she didn’t go out on the streets and lure them into the strip club.  They came in of their own free will.  And she’d had numerous long-term regular customers who paid her _lots_ of money for her company.  She never lied; she never pretended that she was going to start dating them, or move in with them, or marry them, or quit her job for them.  But every once in a while, and only really with Alistair, she started to feel guilty—she knew Alistair cared for her _very_ deeply, and she cared greatly for him too, but she was very uncertain about encouraging him to believe she was _his girl_.  One day—it was only a matter of time, _all_ regular customers had a shelf life—it would come to a head, and the jealousy over other customers or even other men in her personal life would come out, and it would end.  The problem was, whereas with some of her past regulars, she hadn’t minded the business relationship ending (with some she’d been downright relieved), she really cared about Alistair.  A lot.  He knew her real name.  He was the only customer she’d ever met with outside of work—lunch dates, coffee dates, always casual, as one would do with a friend.  _Could_ she date him, for real?  He was the King.  No way they would be able to keep her occupation a secret.  She’d have to quit, certainly.  And she liked her job.  But even then, there would be controversy over what she _used_ to do for a living.  It was complicated.

To give herself a moment to sort through her thoughts, she took off her stripper shoes and slipped on the Jimmy Choos.  They fit perfectly (of course) and looked absolutely stunning under the lights.  Alistair grinned.  “They’re absolutely ostentatious and you can see them glittering from across town, so I instantly thought of you.”

Ellana laughed.  “Thanks…I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”  She stood up and looked down at where he was sitting.  “And I can think of the best way to break them in.”

Almost on cue, the music changed to “Silence” by Delerium.  Alistair’s face was immediately wiped of its smile as she moved slowly in between his legs.  His hands immediately went to lay flat on either side of him and he watched her with hot eyes as she slowly leaned down to nuzzle his neck.

She moved slowly, teasingly, brushing her hands against his chest, against his thighs, and dragging them down her own torso.  The dress came off, slowly: just a shrug of the shoulders to let it drop, revealing the tops of her breasts; another shrug and it fell to her waist, and then her hands slowly dragged it down over her hips, dropping it to let it pool on the floor.  She stepped out of it, and lifted one leg up to rest next his thigh; then the next leg, and she was straddling him, all her weight on her knees, his face level with her breasts, looking down at his awestruck expression.  She moved her knees between his and let her body drag against him, breasts flush against his chest, then over his crotch, until she was kneeling on the floor between his spread legs, looking up at him through her eyelashes.  He breathed heavily as she set her palms on his knees and stroked them upwards, so close to where he was already hard as a rock.  She didn’t touch him, though—just a tease, hovering hands, and then she was rising in glorious majesty over him, sliding the straps of her bra down, then unclasping it and slowly letting it fall, leaving her nude except for her black g-string, the silver sequins on its bands glittering just as much as the crystals on her shoes. 

At the Pearl, stage sets were topless only.  The only nude dances were in VIP and at the dancer’s discretion—no dancer _had_ to go nude.  Ellana rarely, rarely chose to.  Only once in a great while did her g-string come off.  It had never even come off with Alistair.  So when her hands came down and fingers slipped under the band of her g-string, Alistair’s hands fisted in the cushions and his knuckles turned white.  His lips parted as she lingeringly slid it down to her hips—and there she paused, letting him absorb, letting him wonder, letting him _want_ —and then she was pulling it down her legs, and it lay on the floor with her gown.  He had never looked at her with such an expression.  _Worshipful_.  In that moment, she owned him.  She felt it inside of her, this rising of something other than herself, almost like she was channeling something or someone else, a god, or a demon, this _thing_ that glorified in his adoration, in that moment when the connection between them was so intense it was almost tangible, and she could take his soul and he would _let her_.  She used to wonder if she was, in actuality, being possessed by a desire demon during these moments, and Dorian had taken quite a bit of time to reassure her that nothing of the sort was happening.  It was an addictive feeling.  It fed something inside of her, something dark that glorified in having such power in those moments. 

She let her legs trail up between his and straddled him again.  He closed his eyes and groaned.  “Maker… _Ellana_ …you are so…”

She nuzzled his neck and he cut off on a moan.  She waited until he was watching her again, and then she arched her back and stretched, eliciting a strangled sound from him.  She slowly undulated her hips and raised her hands to tangle in her hair, simulating riding him.  She brushed against his sizeable erection, tenting through his slacks, and he jerked.   She gracefully dismounted and turned around, sitting back down on his lap, squarely on his erection, and he groaned again, and his hands jolted.  She leaned back against him, and the view he had over her shoulder was of her naked torso.  She ground herself slowly against him and felt his breath puff hotly against her shoulder as he panted with his want.  She nuzzled her nose against his neck and felt his racing pulse.  She let her parted lips brush his jaw lightly, moving as though towards his mouth—

And then the song ended and she sat up, leaving him wide-eyed with want beneath her.

“Maker,” he panted, watching her raptly as she picked her g-string up.  “If that’s what I have in store for me all night, I’d better start drinking.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shoes: http://us.jimmychoo.com/en/women/shoes/pumps/abel/white-suede-with-crystal-mix-pointy-toe-pumps-ABELSRM0C0962.html?cgid=women-shoes-pumps
> 
> There was a lot more I wanted to put in this chapter, but it was going to be waaaaay too long, so now I'll just write another chapter for it all. So, more Alistair VIP in the next chapter, and some backstory. The first real smut will be in chapter four now, and it's pretty damn good if I do say so myself. 
> 
> I have to admit, it was kinda hard to write the lap dance scene. I was unsure about it, but eventually decided to be less technical and try to do it as a sex scene, which seemed to work pretty well. 
> 
> True story: Irish car bombs were my signature drink at my last club and the manager did the same challenge for my customers. In the two years I worked there, only two guys ever beat me. 
> 
> Sountrack:  
> "Silence" -Delerium


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Alistair VIP. And a fairly angsty ending, so be warned.

The first time Ellana and Alistair met had been nearly three years before.  Ellana had been living in Denerim and working at the Pearl for close to a year—after the chantry explosion in Kirkwall, she had finally taken Zevran up on his offer to work at the Pearl.  He’d been after her for years to leave Kirkwall and the Blooming Rose and go work in his club, but she’d been resistant to leaving for a number of reasons.  After the chantry explosion, though, everything had changed, and she’d been eager to flee.  She’d slowly made a name for herself at the Pearl, and had just started making enough money to move out of the tiny little place she’d rented in Denerim when she’d first moved, and into the luxury apartment she had now.  It had been a warm summer night—a Tuesday, if she remembered correctly—and it had been one of the _worst_ nights of her career, money-wise.  She’d been working for five hours and had literally made fifteen dollars.  The club had been close to empty for most of the night, and she’d spent quite a bit of her time fretting that perhaps she’d gotten in over her head with this new and much more expensive flat.

She’d occupied her time having a couple of drinks with Zevran and Isabela at the bar, and just as Varric announced her as the next dancer on stage, Zevran’s phone dinged.  As Ellana stood up and grabbed her wristlet, he read his message, and then tilted his head back and gave a delighted laugh. 

“Well, my darling, I think our night is going to get much better, and certainly much more interesting.”

“Why?” she’d asked.

“A couple of very old friends of mine have _finally_ taken me up on visiting my establishment.  You know I’ve had this place for six years, and they’ve never once come to see it?”

“Who are they?” she’d asked, curious.

Zevran had only winked at her.  “Oh, you’ll see.”

And it was midway through her stage set—her absolutely superfluous stage set since there were literally four customers in the club and none of them were anywhere near the stage—that she’d looked up and seen Zevran standing there, grinning at her, with a remarkably lovely red-headed woman on one side and the King of Ferelden on the other.

Later, Zevran had told her gleefully that Alistair had stopped mid-stride when he’d seen her on stage.  His mouth had fallen open, and after a few moments he had gasped out, “ _Maker_ , Zev…who is _that_?”

And of course, after Ellana’s stage set had ended, Zevran had been more than happy to introduce her to Leliana and Alistair, and they’d taken over a VIP room for the rest of the night, drinking champagne and enjoying themselves.  She’d ultimately left with a little over twenty dollars—still her worst night ever—but to her surprise, the next night she’d worked, Alistair had come in by himself, nervous as a teenager, and hesitantly asked her what to do if he wanted to spend time with her in the club.

And so it had begun.  He visited regularly, royal schedule permitting—she usually saw him at least twice a month, sometimes much more frequently, sometimes much less so.  Every time he walked into the club, Ellana could count on spending the rest of the night with him in VIP and leaving with at least two thousand dollars.  They would just sit and drink and talk, occasionally stopping when Ellana danced for him.  She had originally assumed that her company would be a passing fancy for Alistair—surely the King of Ferelden could have much more engaging female companionship than a stripper at the Pearl; that, and the fact that all regulars had a shelf life, had made Ellana nearly certain that his visits would stop before long.  To her surprise, it had not, and now, three years later, she couldn’t imagine life without him.  They knew everything about each other.  Well…almost everything.  Alistair still didn’t know her one secret, the truly dangerous secret that could change everything, and Ellana didn’t know if she would ever be able to tell him.

 

Alistair poured the last of the champagne into her flute and glanced at his watch.  “Maker, we’ve still got three hours until closing.  You up for staying here all night?”

Ellana smiled at him from where she was facing him, sprawled stomach down on the sofa catty-corner to him, wearing only her bra and g-string.  “Come on, Alistair, when was the last time I ditched you in the middle of a shift?”

Alistair shrugged good-naturedly.  “Don’t want to wear out my welcome is all.  But with three hours left, I _know_ we’re going to need another bottle.  I’ll text Zevran and let him know.”  He pulled out his phone.

“Ask him to bring some waters, too,” Ellana urged.  “All this champagne will give both of us a major hangover if we don’t start hydrating.”  

Alistair glanced up at her.  “Well, _I_ don’t have anything to do tomorrow, and if my royal ass wants to stay in bed all day nursing a headache, it is my privilege to do so,” he teased.

Ellana snickered.  “Well, _Your Majesty_ , this commoner has to work Saturday nights, so I do not have the royal luxury of staying in bed all day.”

Alistair chuckled.  “That Zevran’s a real slave driver.  You should threaten to go to another club unless he starts giving you weekends off.”

“I _like_ weekends, smart-ass.  And I have Sunday through Tuesday off every week.  _And_ this has a wonderful and _discreet_ VIP area that the King of Ferelden himself can occupy and hardly be seen.  What other club would compete with that?  The other places would accidentally-on-purpose let slip about your visits as often as possible to try and get more business.  Anyways, it’s a moot point, because I’d never ditch Zev like that.”

“What were the other clubs you’ve worked at like?  You’ve never told me about them.”

Ellana cocked her head.  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I was at the Blooming Rose before I was here.  That wasn’t terrible.  Wasn’t as nice as the Pearl, but it was the nicest club in Kirkwall—which isn’t saying much, mind you.  Hard to make money, though, cause it wasn’t very clean, and it can be hard to compete with that.  Before that I was at this little dive in Lowtown that I’m rather embarrassed to admit to.  The Pearl is by far the cleanest club I’ve ever been in.”

“You mean clean like they had a service come in to mop and dust, or clean like what went on?”

“Both,” laughed Ellana.  “Zev won’t tolerate girls trying to sell extras.  They get fired on the spot.”

“Isn’t that more the customer’s fault, though, if a girl gets forced into that?”

“Very noble of you, honey, but not really.  Most of the time the girls doing extras are brand spanking new girls.  Very, very rarely will you find a girl who’s established herself here trying to sell a hand job during a lap dance.  I think a bunch of girls genuinely think that’s how we make our money.  Or they get into this industry because they’ve hit rock bottom and they’re desperate.  It’s not a good mindset to have going into this.”

“Why _did_ you start doing this?  Not that I’m denigrating you or anything,” Alistair added hastily.  “You just…I don’t know, I guess I’d always had a picture in my mind of what an exotic dancer was like.  If I’d run into you on the street the _last_ thing I’d think you did for a living would be dancing.”

Ellana shrugged.  “I’d always wanted to do it.  I’m good at it.  And I really do love it.  It’s fun, and it gives me a lot of freedom I wouldn’t have doing anything else.”

“Well, you’re definitely good at it.  Coming here is the highlight of my schedule, every time.”

“Oh, Alistair,” she murmured, genuinely touched.

“Seriously.  I can come here and just relax and be myself.  I don’t have to be diplomatic.  You aren’t being thrown at my head as a candidate for marriage to cement some alliance.  And you aren’t going to run to the press as soon as I leave and sell some incendiary story about ‘the seedy side of Ferelden’s King.’  It reminds me of when I was still just a Warden.  Back then, I could go anywhere I wanted and talk to anyone and not have to worry about ulterior motives.  You can’t know how much of a relief it is.”

Just then, the curtains parted and Zevran entered, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bunch of bottles of water cradled in his other arm.  “Am I disturbing anything?  No?  What a pity.”  He popped the cork and set the bottle in the ice bucket with a flourish.

“You can join us if you’d like a glass, Zev,” Alistair offered graciously.

Zevran cocked his head.  “I do believe I’ll take you up on that.”  He flung himself down on the sofa next to Alistair and gleefully began pouring himself a glass.

“Alistair was just advising me to demand weekends off, or else move to another club,” Ellana remarked blandly, and had to bite back a grin at the absolutely horrified look that came over Alistair’s face as Zevran choked slightly on his champagne.

“That’s not—I didn’t mean…“ Alistair stammered.  Zevran saw that Ellana was fighting to keep a straight face and started playing along.  He gave Alistair a reproachful look.

“After all our time together, traveling as comrades, battling an Archdemon—and _this_ is how you repay me?  Convincing my best dancer and one of my dearest friends to abandon me for another?  For shame, Alistair.”  He shook his head balefully. 

“Maker—Zevran, I was joking, you _must_ believe me,” Alistair begged.  Ellana couldn’t smother the snorting laugh that escaped her, and Alistair caught on.  He rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch, folding his arms with a huff.  “Not.  Funny.”

Zevran chortled.  “I beg to differ, my friend.  It was extremely funny.”

Ellana leaned over and put a comforting hand on Alistair’s knee.  “You’re too easy, darling.”

“I’ll give you easy,” Alistair growled, and before Ellana could so much as blink, Alistair had leaned forwards and hauled her off her seat, pulling her face-down across his lap.  Ellana turned her head to the side to see Zevran looking down at her, amused. 

“If we weren’t here, I’d give you such a spanking,” Alistair threatened, and Ellana saw Zevran’s eyes go hot for a brief moment as he gazed at her, imagining it.  “As it is, I think I’ll just have to settle for this.”  And he swiftly began tickling her under her arms.

Ellana shrieked with laughter and struggled out of Alistair’s lap, crawling across Zevran in the process.  She brushed against his sizeable erection as she did, and their eyes briefly met in a wordless promise.  _Later_.  As soon as she had righted herself on the other side of Zevran, he stood and stretched. 

“I thank you for the champagne, Your Majesty,” he smiled, “and now I will leave you two to your elements.  Enjoy the rest of your evening—and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Alistair snorted.  “That literally means absolutely nothing, Zev.”

Zevran gave them a parting grin before he ducked through the curtains.  “I know.”

Ellana turned towards Alistair, who was looking at her with a soft expression.  “I wish…” he began, then trailed off and shook his head, frustrated.

She frowned slightly and scooted next to him, where he automatically wrapped one arm around her and nuzzled the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“I just…I know what this is, and where we are, and all of that.  I know this is your job, and I know that you must have hundreds of other men begging you for attention, and I don’t want to be that.  I don’t want to be a naïve sap who pays you money for attention and then believes you’re my girlfriend.  I don’t want _this_ to end.  I wasn’t kidding when I said seeing you here is the highlight of my schedule.  But…” he sighed and shook his head.  “I think…I really wish we could maybe try something out?  Just once?  Not sex, I mean—not that I wouldn’t _like_ that, but—I mean, like a date,” he ended, somewhat flustered.

Ellana pulled back and looked at him.  A thousand thoughts were racing through her head.  Was this the moment that her relationship with Alistair came to a close?  Would this moment result in a broken-hearted Alistair walking out of the club, never to return?  She’d miss the money, but it would hardly break her bank.  She had lots of regulars.  She admitted to herself that she _liked_ Alistair.  She liked him a lot.  She genuinely enjoyed every moment they spent together.  With every other one of her customers, a certain amount of her time in their company was spent gritting her teeth at how annoying they were, or counting down the moments until their time was up.  It was never that way with Alistair.  She never rolled her eyes behind his back.  She never prayed that he would drink so much he’d fall asleep in VIP and she could leave him there and go make money off other customers.  And when the night ended, she always felt just a little disappointed that they had to part ways. 

She had never entered a real-world relationship with a customer.  It had been her rule from day one.  There were so many reasons she’d always refused to do it, mainly because of safety.  You never knew what these guys were like outside of the club.  But then, you never really knew what _anyone_ was like, regardless of where you met them.  The safety thing had crossed her mind with Alistair: if he turned out to be a bad sort, he was in a position of such power and influence that he could truly destroy her life.  But then, he’d been coming in to see her for three years, and she’d never seen a single warning sign.  Plus, she was pretty sure that he could find out everything about her with one casual query to a member of his staff—if he didn’t _already_ know everything about her.  He probably knew where she lived, what car she drove—he might even know about—

_No_.  No one knew that, it wasn’t a matter of public record.  But it was something she would need to tell him, and soon, if they actually started dating.  She’d told him plenty of other personal things already.  She’d told him about growing up Dalish, what her life had been like in Kirkwall; she’d even told Alistair about _him_. 

“Do you think we could actually make it work?” she questioned.  “We both have…others…in our past…I mean…” she took a deep breath and just spit it out.  “We’re both in love with someone else.”

Alistair smiled at her softly.  “Yes, I know.  You have your Solas.  I have my Mahalia.  I think, perhaps, it’s one of the reasons this has appealed to me for so long.  You weren’t going to be jealous of her.  I didn’t need to commit to a monogamous relationship when I was still emotionally attached to someone else.  But over the past three years, I’ve found that I’m able to think of her with less pain every day.  I don’t know how you are with Solas, but I am telling you that I’m willing to do this even knowing about him.  I’m not asking to replace him, but I’d just like you to give me a chance.”  He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.  “You’ve heard about the Conclave in Haven next month, I’m sure.”  She nodded.  “I would like you to accompany me to it as my official escort.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been, but it’s a renowned ski resort.  I’m not much of a skier, but it’s got a very famous destination spa, and I would dearly love to pamper you.  We wouldn’t even be sharing a room or anything, I just think it would be nice to…you know…be with you.”

Ellana made her decision.  She took a deep breath.  “Okay, Alistair.  We can try it.”

A look of pure joy swept across his features.  Beaming, he took her face in his hands, and leaned forward to give her a kiss straight on her lips.  Immediately afterwards, the look of joy was replaced with one of horror when he realized what he had just done.  “ _Maker_ , Ellana, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—“

Ellana couldn’t help but laugh.

 

When she arrived home, it was already dawn.  She entered straight into her nightly ritual: she took all the money out of her wristlet and counted it, recording it in the log she kept and then placing it in her safe. Alistair had tucked three thousand dollars into the back of her bra when he'd hugged her goodbye, so it was undoubtedly the best night she'd had in some time. Then she painstakingly removed all her makeup, pinned up her hair, and took a hot bubble bath, lit only by candles set around the rim of her tub.  She refused to look at any electronic screens when she got home from work: no phone, no iPad, no computer, just whatever book she was reading at the time as she let the hot water relax her muscles.  Tonight she happily dropped one of the bath melts Alistair had gifted her into her bath and luxuriated in the silky-smooth texture it lent to the water.

When she slept, she dreamed.

 

“That’s it, da’len, feel it _here_.”  He placed his hand just below her breasts on her solar plexus.  They were standing in an empty meadow, far from any spying eyes.  It was necessary, for what they were planning.  He was standing close behind her, letting her back press against his chest as he spoke in her ear.  “This is your center.  The more advanced spells can overwhelm you, and you will lose your mastery over the mana.  As you pull, you concentrate on feeling it _here_.  It will not overpower you, and you will have more control.  Now,” he pulled slightly back from her and set both his hands on her shoulders.  “Try again.”

Ellana took a deep breath and began.  She pulled from the Veil, letting the mana fill her, feeling it pulse through her.  She concentrated on where Solas’ hand had just rested and lifted her eyes to the dead stump twenty yards away.  She flung her arm out towards it and let the mana warp through her, shifting, churning, changing, warming, hotter and hotter, and then—

The searing fireball whipped out of her hand towards the stump, and with a roar it connected, showering flames and sparks everywhere in a minor explosion.

She turned to Solas, overjoyed.  “I did it!” she squealed.

He beamed down at her.  “I am so proud, da’len.  You have done so well.”  He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, lingering, until the excitement at her achievement was replaced by heat and longing that permeated every fiber of her being.  It was always like this with Solas.  Every touch made her feel like she was delirious with desire; the very air seemed to thrum against her skin.  She clung to him, gasping, and he pulled back from her for a moment to gaze at her with eyes dark with want.  “Isalan hima sa i’na,” he murmured, and then lowered them both to the ground.  He bent his head again, and then—

Ellana’s eyes snapped open.  For a moment she couldn’t grasp what had happened—where was she, why wasn’t she back in the meadow with Solas?  And then she was fully conscious, and the ache of the dream—of the memory—washed over her.

Just then, her phone dinged on her nightstand.  She rolled over and saw the text alert.  It was from a blocked number.

_Ar lath ma, vhenan._

She dropped the phone back onto the nightstand as the tears welled into her eyes.  With a low sob, she turned her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isalan hima sa i’na: I lust to become one with you.  
> A thousand thanks to FenxShiral for the Elvhen language!
> 
> I've talked about that g-string so many times, so here it is: http://www.kamalacollection.com/Carnival-sequin-band-g-string-p/hyp-7009.htm  
> I seriously had like three of these in every color when I danced.
> 
> True story: I never dated a customer in my five years of dancing, until I met my bf there within a year of my leaving the industry, and we've been together for four years. So, I'd say it's the exception that proves the rule. 
> 
> I'm all done with everything I needed to establish with Ellana and Alistair. Sorry for the Solas angst, but seriously. How can Solavellan NOT be angsty?
> 
> Next chapter will be the beginning of the smut, I promise!


	4. Chapter 4*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Zevran have some sexy times, and Zevran tells Dorian and Ellana the story about Alistair and the Warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * means smut  
> I would say this whole fanfiction is NSFW, but this chapter is ESPECIALLY NSFW. So, you know. Enjoy.

Ellana’s bedroom was awash in the glow of the setting sun.  It was really a very glorious sunset, pinks and reds and golds all blending together in a sweep of dazzling color across the periwinkle sky.  But Ellana was a bit distracted at the moment.

Zevran’s compact, muscular body was beneath her, and he was pulling her down against his chest as he gripped her hips and slowly moved her over his length.  He licked the tip of her ear as he crooned in his wicked Antivan accent, “Oh yes, lovely girl, my beauty, that’s perfect…nice and slow…you ride my cock so well, so wonderfully well…you are delicious, such a lovely tight cunt, so wet, so warm…”

His thrusts were slow, torturously slow, but deep, and with every thrust he pulled her hips down to meet him.  His grip on her was unyielding.  He would not allow her to change the pace.  He had her angled so that with every thrust, he was both rubbing her clitoris against his length, and hitting the soft spot inside her that had her panting uncontrollably.  He licked her ear again, and with a shudder, she buried her face into his neck and gave a low, broken moan.  Zevran knew that sound well.

“Ah, you are close, yes?  I can feel it; I can feel you gripping me, little tremors going up and down my cock.  I want to feel more, my beauty, I want to feel your pretty pussy going off around me, gripping me so tightly I cannot help but fill you up…”

Zevran kept their movements steady, unvarying in their speed or intensity.  Ellana dug her fingers into the sheets and gasped.

“Oh, that’s it, my beauty, that’s it.  You are so close, so close.  I know what you need.  I know what you need, lovely girl.  Say it.”

Ellana whimpered.  “Zev…oh, _Zev_ … _please_ …”

“I have you, my darling, I have you.  I’m here.  I know what you need.  Say it, darling.  _Say it_.”

Heat began to spiral inside of her.  Her toes curled, her body began to shake, and as her orgasm exploded upon her, she opened her mouth and cried out.  “Solas!  Solas!  I’m coming!  Oh gods…oh fuck… _Solas…_ ” and her voice dissolved into sobs as she rode out her pleasure on Zevran’s cock, the mere thought of _him_ driving her orgasm into nearly unbearable heights of white-hot bliss.  She convulsed above him, but still Zevran moved her, prolonging her pleasure.

“That’s it, my darling, that’s it, that’s the way…just like that…”  Her clenching cunt squeezed Zevran so tightly that he reached his own release.  He tossed his head back into the pillow and groaned. “Fuck—I’m coming—oh fuck— _Ellana—_ oh Maker, that’s it, that’s perfect…”  Their cries mingled as his throbbing cock renewed her own orgasm, and she scrabbled at the sheets, voice rising to a scream as she was enveloped with sensation so sharp and encompassing that she could hardly stand it. 

Zevran wrapped his arms around her, shivering and gasping against her neck as the last wave passed through him.  She collapsed against his chest, her gasps for air swiftly turning into sobs.  Tears leaked from her closed eyes, trickling down her face to land gently on Zevran’s chest.  He stroked her back as he held her.

“It’s all right, my darling, let it out.  I’m here.” 

She was sobbing in earnest now, the result of both the mind-blowing orgasm she’d just experienced at Zevran’s hand, and the emotional blow that had come from thinking of Solas.  It didn’t always happen this way, but she was still feeling raw from the unexpected text Solas had sent her early the previous morning.  He did that, every once in a while; little texts that both thrilled and destroyed her, letting her know he still loved her, that he was thinking of her, that he would never forget her. 

Zevran murmured to her as he clutched her to him, soothing her until her tears had ceased.  For a moment they just lay there, basking in the afterglow and enjoying the feel of each other.  Finally, Zevran slid carefully out from beneath her and stroked her cheek.

“Stay there a moment, my beauty,” he said, and then disappeared into her bathroom.  She was content to lie there, sated, as he started the water running in the tub and began opening and closing cabinets and rifling through the contents therein.  After a few minutes, he came and fetched her.

“Come now, my darling, it’s ready,” he cajoled, and she let herself be led into the bathroom.  Soon she was settled in the hot bath, hair pinned up, nestled back against Zevran’s lean torso, his arms around her and his hands resting on her flat stomach.  With a sigh, she turned her face lazily to the side, and Zevran kissed her temple. 

The steam rising from the water was scented with lemongrass and mango.  She hummed.  “You used one of my bath melts.”

She felt Zevran smile against her temple.  “It wasn’t the last one, don’t worry.”

She sighed contentedly.  “Sunday is our Relax Day.  If I didn’t want to use one on Sunday, when _would_ I want to use it?”

He hummed his agreement, and for long moments they just rested in silence, enjoying the water.

After a bit, one of his hands started stroking the smooth skin of her stomach.  At first it was just his thumb, brushing back and forth, and then his whole hand began softly rubbing in circles.  Then his hand began to trail down her torso, disappearing under the water, coming to rest over her center.  He pressed his palm firmly against her, his other arm tightening around her just under her breasts, and she jerked.

“Did you think I was done with you, lovely girl?” he purred.  His fingers began teasing at her entrance, deftly stroking and brushing everywhere except where she needed.  She whimpered, shifting her hips, trying to bring his fingers against the right spot.  “No, darling, just lie still, let me do the work.  Just relax against me and let me make you come.”

She moaned and forced her body to rest back, closing her eyes.  “That’s it, my beauty, that’s the way.  Just let me do what I want.  Let me explore your delightful cunt…that’s right…”  His fingers finally brushed against her clit and she jumped.  “Oh, is that what you want?” he whispered, nuzzling her ear.  “Is that where you need me?  Or do you need me _here_ ,” and he slipped two long fingers inside of her, curling them forward, making her keen.  She was still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and she knew from experience that Zevran was merciless when it came to this.  He was hard again, his length a fiery brand against her lower back.

“ _Maker_ , aren’t you two done yet?”

With great effort, Ellana opened her eyes and, heavy-lidded, turned her head to see Dorian leaning against the doorjamb, looking both exasperated and amused.

“Mere moments, my friend,” Zevran sang, not ceasing his ministrations in the slightest.

Dorian rolled his eyes and straightened.  “Hurry up, will you?  I put the kettle on for tea but I want to start _drinking_ , dammit,” he said as he left the bathroom. 

Zevran laughed and slid his other hand down, beginning to tease at her clit, as he continued to pump his two fingers slowly in and out of her.  She bit her lip and breathed deeply as heat started to spiral out from where his fingers deftly worked her.  Despite her efforts, her hips started to lift in time with his languid thrusts.  Zevran chuckled as he saw her struggle to keep still.

“Ah, you can’t help it, can you?  So responsive, so eager for me…”

Her lips parted on a gasp as she felt her crest approach.  Zevran groaned softly, pressing his length harder against her back.  “I can feel you, Ellana, I can feel your cunt pulsing around my fingers…just let go for me now, come for me, let me feel you come…”

“ _Zevran_ ,” Ellana moaned brokenly, and shuddered as the wave took her.  The pleasure washed warmly through her, gently and slowly at first, then crashing harder as Zevran pressed her clit harder and pushed his fingers firmly against the soft spot inside of her.  With a yelp, she bucked against his hand, then tossed her head back and whimpered as she let it carry her away.

But Zevran didn’t stop.  As her orgasm died and she became almost unbearably sensitive, she squirmed against him to dislodge his hand, but he pulled her roughly back against him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he hissed, and his hands continued, now moving harder and faster inside of her cunt and against her clit.  “I know you can come again.”  She writhed against him, but he did not relent.  “I could do this all day, lovely girl.  Just bring you to pleasure again and again, make you come over and over, all over my hands, my mouth, my cock, until you think you’ll die from it.” 

“Zevran!” she wailed.  “Please, please, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” he growled.  “I know you can.  I know what this pretty little cunt can do.  Come for me, Ellana.”

She tried to arch and twist away from him, but he kept her in place and fucked his fingers into her even faster.  It was too much.  She couldn’t—she _couldn’t_ —and then…

“ _Yes_ ,” Zevran moaned low into her ear as her cunt clenched around his fingers.  Her vision whited out.  She screamed but didn’t even notice.  The shock of it, the razor-sharp explosion that radiated out from where his fingers were so deftly playing her, left her in an almost euphoric state as her orgasm went on…and on…and on…

“Yes, Ellana, keep coming… _fuck_ , that’s it, come all over my fingers, keep fucking coming… _Maker_ , you’re perfect…”

She finally went limp in his arms, and he mercifully slid his fingers out of her and took his other hand off of her swollen and well-used clit.  Her deep, heaving breaths echoed throughout the bathroom as he sedately kissed her temple again.  “You’re so perfect,” he whispered in her ear.

With a wordless cry, Ellana turned suddenly in his arms and pressed her lips to his as one of her hands darted into the water and firmly wrapped around his rigid length.  He jerked, surprised, and groaned into her mouth as she began to stroke.

“Move up,” she murmured against his mouth, and he did so, scooting up so that he was sitting on the rim of the tub and his shaft was level with her face.  Without a moment of teasing, she dove in, instantly enveloping his entire length in her mouth.

Zevran swore and immediately fisted both hands in her hair as she bobbed up and down on his cock, tongue dragging along the bottom of his shaft and flicking just beneath the head every time she pulled back.  She brought her hand into it, twisting with every stroke. 

Zevran banged his head back against the wall.  “ _Fuck_.  So good…it’s so good…”

She hummed, and the vibration from the noise made Zevran’s hands tighten in her hair.  His balls drew up tautly, and seeing it, she took her free hand and cupped them, pressing her fingers firmly against his perineum.

Zevran gave a loud cry and tensed.  “I’m going to come— _fuck_ —now, now, I’m coming _now_ —“

The first splash of his seed on Ellana’s tongue made her moan with delight.  She looked up at him as she sucked him dry; Zevran’s face during an orgasm was one of the most handsome and arousing things she’d ever seen.  He glanced down at her with a fierce expression and growled, “Swallow it.  Swallow every last drop.”  She did so eagerly, savoring the taste of him, musty and salty and bitter and sweet.

When he was finally spent, he leaned weakly against the wall for a moment.  Ellana sat back and licked her lips, causing his mouth to quirk into a smile.  He stroked her face.  “You really are perfect, my darling.” 

She smiled back.  “Dread Wolf take you, Zevran.  You’ll kill me one of these days.”

Zevran tilted his head back and laughed heartily.  “What a way to go, yes?”  Then he straightened resolutely and began climbing out of the tub.  “Now we shouldn’t keep Dorian waiting any longer.  It’s time to start our weekly revelry, yes?”

 

When Ellana emerged from the bedroom, it was to find the French doors in her living room wide open and Dorian reclining on one of the chaise chairs on her balcony.  He’d already prepared tea, and her lovely traditional Ferelden bone chine tea set was neatly arranged on a tray and sitting on the dining table outside.  She stepped outside and took a deep breath of the dusk air, enjoying the cool breeze against her skin, before she went to the table and prepared her own cup.

“I’m surprised you can still walk,” Dorian commented.

Ellana grinned unabashedly as she set her teacup down on a little side table and flopped onto the chaise next to him.  “You know Zevran,” she said happily.  “No such thing as a quickie when there’s time to spare.”

“Oh, sure, don’t mind me,” Dorian chuckled.  “I’m just your best friend, sitting here waiting for you two to join me for our weekly ritual.”

“Where’s Bull?” she questioned.

“He’s on his way,” Dorian replied, taking a sip of his tea.  “He wanted to stop for some groceries first.  He has an idea that he wants to fill me up with food before we drink.  He thinks I’ll be able to keep up with him better that way.”

Ellana scoffed.  “ _Nobody_ can keep up with Bull when it comes to drinking.”

“This is true,” Zevran agreed, joining them by sitting at the foot of Ellana’s chaise.  “I tried once and blacked out for nearly two days.”

“You’re _both_ walking,” Dorian exclaimed, feigning amazement.  “With all the screaming and shrieking and carrying on, I was sure at least one of you would be left sprawled in bed for the rest of the day.”

“It was needed,” Zevran said simply, and Dorian gave them both an inquiring look.

For a moment Ellana was silent, and then she said softly, “I had a Solas dream yesterday morning.  And then he texted me.”

Dorian instantly ceased his teasing.  “Oh, Ellana,” he murmured, and took her hand in his, squeezing sympathetically.

She stared down at her lap.  “I don’t know if it’s comforting or agonizing, knowing he still follows my dreams in the Fade.  If he still loves me, why is he doing this?”  Her voice broke briefly, and Zevran put a comforting arm around her.  “I feel like I can’t move on, even if I wanted to.  And I’m not sure that I do.  I’ve never even been tempted before, but Alistair…”

Dorian glanced at Zevran, who explained.  “Our illustrious king has invited Ellana to accompany him to the Conclave.”

Dorian dropped her hand and sprang to his feet.  “Are you _serious_?  _Dammit_ , Ellana, when were you going to tell me?”

Ellana couldn’t help but smile at her best friend’s outrage at being kept in the dark.  “It only happened Friday night, and _somebody_ was travelling and unreachable all day yesterday.”  Dorian had been in Tevinter for the past week, and in his journey home the day before, his phone had been off all day.

“But—the _Conclave!_ With the King of Ferelden!  I cannot _believe_ you didn’t tell me, you bitch!”

“Watch out,” Zevran chuckled, “you may be speaking to the future Queen.”

Ellana looked at him, alarmed.  “Don’t even joke about that.  You know why that isn’t even an option.”

Dorian squeezed onto the chaise on Ellana’s other side, leaving her sandwiched between him and Zevran.  “Tell us why it isn’t an option.”

Ellana looked back and forth between the two of them, incredulous.  “Oh, come on.  Don’t give me that shit.  You think the fucking King of Ferelden is going to get seriously involved with, much less _marry_ , a Dalish stripper from the Free Marches?  He has people whose job it is to dig.  And they’ll start digging on me as soon as we’re seen in public together, if they haven’t already.  And sooner or later someone will find out why I left Kirkwall.  And I just—I can’t—“  Ellana faltered and trailed off, staring at her lap.  On either side of her, Zevran and Dorian exchanged a meaningful look.

“Ellie, you haven’t told him, have you?” Dorian questioned gently.

Ellie looked at Dorian with tears brimming in her eyes.  “I _can’t_.  I’m so afraid to, you have no idea.  You’ve seen how people look at you, and you’re _legit_ —an Enchanter, Circle educated, from a good family—“

“Ah, but I’m Tevinter, Ellie.  It’s different.  Especially since everything with the Venatori started recently.”

Ellana shook her head.  “But Alistair is King of Ferelden.  And he was a Templar.  You think for one second he would be with me if he knew I was a—a—“

“You’re an apostate, darling,” Dorian said breezily.  “It’s not a bad word.”

Ellana looked at him, wide-eyed.  “It might as well be!  After the Chantry in Kirkwall, you _know_ how everyone looks at apostates!  And we weren’t exactly popular before.  If anyone finds out, I’ll be imprisoned in a Circle, if I’m _lucky_.  Or I could be just plain imprisoned.  Or, Mythal preserve me, I could be made Tranquil.  I’d rather die.”

“That’s not going to happen, my darling,” Zevran assured her.  “And here’s a thought for you.  Alistair was a Templar, yes?  What makes you think he’s been around you for three years and never picked up on your magic?”

Ellana opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of anything to say.  Why hadn’t that occurred to her before?  She _knew_ he was a Templar— _why_ did she ever think _any_ of this was a good idea?  _Stupid_ , so stupid of her—

Zevran shook his head as he saw the expressions flying across her face.  He shifted so he was sitting on the chaise across from her that Dorian had vacated and leaned towards her, forcing her to talk face-to-face.  “My darling,” he said earnestly.  “Alistair has been besotted with you since he first walked into the Pearl.  Our king is many things, and he may despise The Game, but he is not a stupid man.  All of these things will have occurred to him long before they occurred to you.  He has much to gain or lose from any relationship he chooses to enter into, and he has chosen _you_.  Take heart in that, yes?  He knows about Solas, he probably knows you are an apostate, he obviously knows you’re Dalish and a dancer, and he has chosen to ask this of you anyways.”

Ellana was hesitant.  “He knows about Solas, but I doubt he would be very forgiving of that whole thing for long.  Even with everything about him and Mahalia…”

Dorian looked at Zevran.  “What was the story there?  I’ve never really heard more than bits and pieces of it.”

Ellana agreed.  “Tell us the details, Zev.”  She was genuinely curious, and this had the added benefit of changing the subject.

Zevran sat back on his chaise.  “Well, you know Mahalia Tabris was from the Alienage here in Denerim.  She was actually supposed to be married, to an elf named Nelaros, but on her wedding day there was some incident with a local lord…I cannot remember his name, but there was apparently a tradition where the local lords liked to claim rights from the Dalish brides on their wedding day.  They took Mahalia and several others, and kept them in the dungeon at their estate, and I am sure there were lots of unspeakable things done to all of them while they were there.  More than one of them ended up dead.  But Mahalia managed to escape, and went on a bit of a rampage in the estate.  She killed most of the guards…found her betrothed’s body…and when the young lord what’s-his-name tried to reason with her, she cut him down too.  Likely would have been put to death if Duncan hadn’t conscripted her on the spot. 

“Now, you have to understand that I never knew her before, but I was with her the next time she returned to the Alienage.  She had changed.  You could see it just with the way all of the Elves there were with her.  I think everything that happened in that estate messed with her.  She was…well…” Zevran hesitated.  “She seemed to enjoy sowing discord.  She especially liked pitting lovers against each other.  She slept with all of us she could.  Leliana, Alistair—me, of course—and at least one drunken romp with Oghren…she tried for Sten but he wasn’t having it, he hates those sorts of games—she probably would’ve fucked Shale if it was possible.  She certainly had plenty of casual encounters during our travels.  Now, do not misunderstand me,” Zevran said deliberately, “I am the _last_ person to judge someone for their choices in bed.  I could not have cared less had she fucked her way through the Darkspawn Horde rather than fighting—as long as it worked—but the games she played…it reminded me of the Crows, except she was not doing it because it was part of a mission, she was doing it because she enjoyed it.  She wanted everyone fighting over her.  I think she got off on it.  She ditched me quick enough when she saw I was not going to get jealous.  But Alistair…well…I do not want to say he’s the jealous type, because I do not think he is under normal circumstances…but he was much younger, and greener, and he was very besotted.  And she knew it.  She never committed to being with only him, mind you, but she knew he wanted monogamy.  The poor man was a shadow of himself for a time.  And then when everything came out about his lineage and that he was next in line for the throne, well, she changed her tune quickly enough.  She stopped the sex games immediately and committed to him wholeheartedly.  But what finally did it for Alistair was when she decided she wanted Alistair to marry Anora, and she would be his mistress.”

Dorian’s mouth fell open in shock.  “Mahalia wanted her lover to marry _Loghain’s daughter_?”

Zevran nodded soberly.  “Alistair despised Loghain.  We all did, really…you can’t know what it was like, what he did to the reputation of the Wardens, how dangerous it was for Alistair to simply be alive…but Mahalia had made some separate agreement with Anora on the side that Mahalia would get a certain amount of power and prestige, and a say in how things were run, as long as she supported Anora for queen.

“Well, you can imagine Alistair’s reaction.  He was horrified.  I will never forget it—the look on his face when he came walking out of that meeting …and after the battle was over, and when Morrigan had disappeared, Alistair told her to leave and never come back.  He never wanted to see her again. 

“I have to say, though, I think if it all happened now, Alistair may well have had a different reaction.  I said before that he hates The Game…but back then, he didn’t even know how to play it.  He may still dislike it, but he sees it as a necessary evil, and he’s quite a player when he wants to be.  He certainly would never marry Anora, but I think he could be much more forgiving of Mahalia.  One of the last times we talked about her—and this was before he even met you, Ellana—he told me she was sending him letters every so often.  No emails or texts—those can always be traced, especially with the security they have at the palace—but paper letters mailed from various places around Thedas.  It seemed she was sorry for what she did, for getting so caught up in everything, and she was devoting all her energy to the Wardens now—research about something or other, I’m not sure.  It seemed she’d started regretting treating him the way she did, as well she should, because he didn’t deserve it.  I don’t know if she still writes him or not.  But anyways,” Zevran concluded, “that is the story.”

Dorian and Ellana sat in silence for a moment, absorbing it.  Ellana spoke first.  “I have to say…Alistair never said much about her, just that he wasn’t over her.  She doesn’t seem to _deserve_ it, though, does she?”

Dorian was quick with a rejoinder.  “I think we could both say that Solas doesn’t deserve your love either.”  Which shut Ellana up right quick.

Just then, the doorbell inside the apartment went off.  Ellana ran to buzz Bull in, and unlocked the door so he could let himself inside when he got off the elevator.  He did so a couple minutes later, and went out to the balcony where the three of them were sitting.  He carried two paper bags of groceries, and his face was unusually grim.

Dorian stood to greet his boyfriend and noticed Bull’s expression immediately.  “What’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

Bull looked back and forth between them all.  “You haven’t been watching the news?”

Zevran and Ellana stood.  “What’s happened?” Zevran demanded.

“There’s been an attack in Val Royeaux.  It’s happening right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up waaaay longer than I originally intended. The original sex scene was just barely a page long, but then it just kept going, and who am I to deny Zevran? Ahhh, Zevran, my first Dragon Age love. 
> 
> Next chapter will obviously be about the Val Royeaux attack. And the first appearance of a character I think everyone is eager to see...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horrified, Ellana, Zevran, Dorian, and the Iron Bull watch the breaking news story about the Venatori terrorists attacking Val Royeaux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, and a realistic news scene addressing a terrorist attack...if you get intensely disturbed whenever catching a live news story about a terrorist attack or shooting or another violent tragedy, proceed with caution.

White-faced, the four friends silently crowded around the television in Ellana’s living room.  Dorian was paler than the rest, and under his breath, he was muttering, “Please don’t be Tevinter…please don’t be Tevinter…please don’t be Tevinter…”

When Ellana picked up the remote and turned the TV on, it was already on FBC (Ferelden Broadcasting Company).  The video was of smoke billowing up from a square in Val Royeaux.  Bodies lay on the pavement outside of a café.  People were running and screaming, and the sound of explosions could be heard from somewhere nearby.  The news ticker at the bottom of the screen reported: “LIVE: VENATORI TERRORISTS ATTACKING SUMMER BAZAAR IN VAL ROYEAUX…NINETEEN DEAD CONFIRMED…ORLESIAN ARMY PREPARING COUNTERATTACK… BREAKING NEWS: SUMMER BAZAAR HELD BY VENATORI…”

Dorian gave a broken moan and sagged onto the sofa, a combination of horror and desolation settling over his face.  Bull sat down next to him and put an arm around him reassuringly, but Dorian did not respond.  His eyes were glued to the screen as a reporter started speaking.

“We have nineteen confirmed casualties so far.  Again, if you are just joining us, Venatori terrorists began attacking the Summer Bazaar in Val Royeaux at 7 p.m. this evening.  They are holding the marketplace down and are attempting to prevent survivors from fleeing.  The Orlesian army has been working to organize a counterassault since the violence began, but appear to be having trouble gaining access to the location…wait…I am being told now that…Maker!” The reporter grabbed at her earpiece with a look of horror before continuing in a rushed, frantic voice.  “I am being told now that Venatori have ambushed and begun attacking the units of the Orlesian army located nearby…do we have video?”

The screen changed to a shot of a small street in Val Royeaux, filmed from a window somewhere above.  Two bodies in Orlesian uniform were sprawled in the street, and a group of soldiers was crouched behind riot shields.  Before them, standing boldly without cover in the middle of the street, were three men and one woman, dressed in the queer white light armor crossed with tan chainmail and gold piping that denoted Venatori.  As the four friends looked on in horror, the four mages crouched and cast ice glyphs on the ground before them, and then quickly began sending wave after wave of battle magic towards the trapped soldiers.  The Orlesians were unprepared for the onslaught and began to run for cover around the corner.  One of the unlucky soldiers was hit with a spell and was immediately incased in a blue wall of ice and snow.  Zevran swore as the Venatori began to follow the soldiers, not allowing them a moment of respite.

“We’re going now to the Summer Bazaar, where I’m being told that the Venatori have herded the soldiers and civilians together in the square.  Please, if you have children watching, send them out of the room because we do not know what the Venatori are planning to do here.  Once again, if you are just joining us, we are live as Venatori terrorists have taken over the Summer Bazaar in Val Royeaux…”

Dorian gave a choked cry as the screen cut to a video of the square.  A mass of civilians were huddled together on the pavement, soldiers grouped around them and trying to shield as many people as possible with their limited supplies.  The Venatori mages assembled around them, standing proudly with their staves in hand.  Ellana was shaking; Zevran took her hand and gripped it tightly.  She glanced over to Dorian and gripped his spare hand; his other was held by Iron Bull.  Hand in hand, the four of them watched what they were certain was to be a mass execution on live television.

Suddenly, a few of the Venatori swung and looked in a different direction.  The camera panned to the side, where a figure was emerging from one of the arches in the Bazaar.  The reporter spoke: “There appears to be a man who has evaded the Venatori approaching the group…once again, please use discretion if there are young viewers watching this with you, this is live and we do not know what is going to happen…”

The figure stopped a small way from the group.  He was tall and dressed in peculiar mail none of them had ever seen before: intricate heavy plate mail pauldrons, gauntlets, and cuirass, heavily engraved with strange gold symbols; a light wolf pelt slung over one shoulder and secured at his waist; incongruously light foot wrappings; and a hood over his head, concealing his face from the camera.  He carried a staff.

“Maker, he’s a mage!”  Dorian gasped.

“I’ve never seen a mage wear armor like that,” Bull commented.

Ellana was white with fear.  “What is he doing?!  Mythal preserve him, he’s going to be killed!”

Even with the limited audio, distorted by the sounds of explosions in the distance, they could hear the mages laughing at this man standing so calmly before them.  The man shifted, and his hood moved slightly, showing an outline of a point where his ear would be…

“He’s an elf!” Ellana cried, thunderstruck.

Bull shook his head.  “He’s too tall.”

“I’ve known tall elves.  Solas was that tall.”

Zevran gripped her hand tighter as a few of the Venatori turned fully towards the mysterious figure and began to advance; not in figuration, but casually, as though they did not view him as a threat.  They were playing with him.

And all four of the friends cried out in shock as with lightning speed, the mage threw one hand out and the pavement where the advancing Venatori had been standing suddenly split wide open into a chasm.  They had disappeared.

The remaining Venatori gathered their wits and turned their full attention on this elf, casting their defensive glyphs and sending fireballs and lightning towards him—but he was gone, in the blink of an eye—suddenly he had fade-stepped behind them, and dense smoke billowed up from where four of the Venatori had been standing—but now there were four stone statues there instead—they had been petrified.

Bull swore, awestruck and impressed, but Ellana was a nervous wreck, trembling so badly Zevran pulled her bodily against him in an attempt to calm her.  She felt like she was going to pass out.

And then, as the remaining six Venatori advanced on this elf, this extraordinarily powerful mage, the same grey smoke engulfed him.  For a wild moment Ellana thought one of the Venatori had petrified him in turn, but the smoke billowed out, becoming more dense, crawling along the ground, completely hiding the elf; white electricity crackled through the dark mass; and when it started to clear, there wasn’t an elf standing there anymore…there was a…

Ellana screamed and slipped off the couch to land on her knees.  Alarmed, the others stood, but then Dorian made a choked sound.  “Holy Andraste…”

There was a wolf standing in the clearing smoke, a hulking wolf, the same dark grey color the smoke had been, with six glowing red eyes, three on each side.  And the wolf leapt and slaughtered each of the Venatori, ripping them limb from limb and leaving a trail of blood and gore behind him. 

Ellana was still on her knees, rocking back and forth, taking in the destruction with wide eyes filled with tears of horror and reverence.  Only Zevran understood; shaking, he sat back down on the sofa, placing one hand on her shoulder.  Dorian shook his head, baffled.  “Who is he?”

The Orlesian soldiers began haltingly advancing towards the wolf when the carnage was over, weapons at the ready, but stopped when the grey smoke began engulfing it.  When it cleared, the same mage was there in place of the wolf, crouched on the ground, hood in place; but now he was facing towards the cameraman in the building above.  It was much too far to make out his features, but his eyes were easy to see, because they were glowing, and the same smoke was trickling from under his hood.  He slowly stood, and as the Orlesians approached in formation, he stood, tapped his staff on the ground, and turned—and he was gone.

Wordlessly, Dorian and Bull turned to look at Ellana, who was still rocking on her knees.  One look at her and Dorian knew that she had an explanation, and Zevran was on board with it, because his face was white as a sheet.

Ellana spoke quietly, reverently, but with a face drawn with shock.  “It is the Dread Wolf.  Fen’Harel, He Who Hunts Alone, The Betrayer, The Bringer of Nightmares.  It is Fen’Harel who locked away the Creators and the Forgotten Ones in the Heavens and the Abyss, millennia ago, before the fall of Arlathan.”

Dorian was incredulous.  “But surely…that can’t be _real_ , Ellie.  Those are just stories, they can’t possibly—“

“It is _him_ , Dorian.  The wolf with six red eyes…that was the form he would take.  The pelt he wore was a wolf pelt.  It is Fen’Harel…he was lost for millennia, perhaps asleep, perhaps elsewhere, but he has returned.  He will wreak a terrible vengeance on this world.”

 

Seventeen-year-old Ellana was ready for her blood writing.

Her meditations over the past few months had grown deeper and deeper.  She was at peace, centered, grounded.  She had meditated on the primal rush of Andruil’s hunt, on the mysteries of Dirthamen, on the quiet contentment of Sylaise, on the gut-wrenching vengeance of Elgar’nan.  But ever would her mind wander, past the traditional gods, to _Him_ …the Betrayer.

At first, Ellana had not resisted it.  Fen’Harel was the Trickster, yes, but he was a part of the Pantheon, and it was important to be balanced in her meditation.  It was important to _understand_ the depths of his betrayal.

But over the months, he began appearing in her meditations more and more frequently, eclipsing the other gods, inundating her with images of triumph, of sadness, of desperation, of sorrowful victory.  And when it was time for her to choose her dedication, she knew she could not choose him.  He did not have vallaslin, and anyways, no elf in their right mind would dedicate themselves to the Dread Wolf.  So she picked Mythal, the only god she had continued to feel a connection to as the Dread Wolf had taken over her meditations. 

And then as she grew older, when dreaming, she began encountering Fen’Harel in the Fade.  Always from a distance, but she knew it was him.  Sometimes in wolf form, sometimes in his elven body.  Never close enough to see clearly, and certainly never close enough to converse with.  Nonetheless, she had the feeling that he watched over her and that, in his way, he approved of her. 

So when she saw the Wolf ferociously ripping into the hapless Venatori mages, a feeling both horror and elation had settled over her, to her bafflement and confusion.  Fen’Harel was a mysterious figure, and she’d always known deep down that the stories about him had been very oversimplified.  Elves tended to blame him for the fall of Arlathan, as the gods had been locked away and unable to defend the Elven people.  But now that it came to it, and he was here, _awake_ , flesh and blood, walking amongst humans in modern Val Royeaux…whose side was he on? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than the others, but I literally wrote it entirely in one sitting, so I'll take it. 
> 
> So, Fen'Harel's first appearance! And stay tuned for the next update, cause I just decided (literally as I'm typing this now) that it's going to be the backstory on Ellana and Solas. So, you know. Be prepared for heartbreaking Solavellan angst. And maybe some smut too, I haven't decided yet.


	6. Chapter 6*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana is pretty shaken up after the terrorist attack in Val Royeaux, but Zevran has arranged a nice surprise for her to take her mind off things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * means smut. TWO KINDS of smut in this chapter.

The first time Ellana had set eyes on Solas had been at a house party.  She was seventeen, mere months after receiving her vallaslin.  She’d been a fairly crazy partier for such a young age, and had an eclectic variety of friends…lots of rebel Dalish, lots of apostates, all of them vaguely Gothic in their appearance and attitudes.  Her golden hair always stood out at these parties, among all the dyed black and purple and blue and red. 

She walked out of one of the bedrooms and saw him, sitting quietly in a chair in the corner of the main room.  Erect posture, but so relaxed, so at ease, occupying the cheap black leather armchair as though it were a throne…so handsome…and their eyes met, and something just seemed to _click_ inside of her.  She was never one to believe in love at first sight, and she still didn’t, but there was still _something_ there, this undeniable chemistry, almost tangible in its intensity.  And like a moth to a flame, she had drifted over to him, silently seating herself on the arm of the chair.  And they’d sat like that, quietly, until he turned to her and asked about the silver necklace she wore that she’d been absently fiddling with since she’d seen him.  It was a pendant with a symbol of Mythal on the front, and a symbol of Fen’Harel on the back, where no one could see it, where no one would know about it but her.  And although she knew her attachment to Fen’Harel was taboo, and this man was obviously an elf and would in all likelihood be horrified at her admission, she found herself telling him about her meditations prior to her coming of age, about her inability to focus on any god but the Dread Wolf, about her doubts as to the Dalish myths concerning the Trickster.  And he had listened, intent on her words, absorbing them as though they were precious to him.  And they had talked, for what could have been hours, or days, or weeks…and then they had ended up in one of the bedrooms, clutching each other, drunk on the taste of each other’s skin, on the sounds of each other’s moans.  They didn’t have sex—not that night, and not for another couple of years—but they learned each other’s bodies, and reveled in the sensations.  Every light touch of his hands and lips on her skin felt like the Veil was throbbing around her, against her, inside of her.  Lights burst behind her eyes, white fire thrummed in her veins, and she could only drift in the _wonder_ of it. 

She had always considered herself fairly difficult to please sexually…it was hard enough for her to bring herself to orgasm, nearly impossible for another person to do it—but with Solas, every touch, every feel of his fingers on her, inside of her, caused a small orgasm, and one bled into another, until she felt as though she were immersed in a dream world where she only existed for pleasure, until she thought she would perish, gloriously, at his hands, his lips, his tongue.  And she slithered down to encase his rigid length in her warm mouth, and fervently stroked and sucked and licked until he was on the verge of insanity, begging her for completion, warning her that he was close.  And she did something that night she had never done before, and encouraged him, _begged_ him, to come in her mouth—she had always been very nervous to do that, had been intimidated by the mere idea of it—but with Solas, she needed it like she needed _air_ , and he had gripped her hair in his hands and groaned out his pleasure, telling her how good it was, how beautiful she was, how it felt like he loved her, had always loved her, would always love her—and she had swallowed everything he had to give, savoring it as though it was precious to her. 

Thus began the great love affair that was Ellana and Solas.  To this day, she had never been with anyone, human or elf, man or woman, that made her feel like he had, like every moment was divine, like every breath was power, like every touch was transcendent.  She had not questioned it—surely, this was it, _this_ was love, they were _meant_ to be together, soul mates—but that hackneyed idea didn’t even come close to describing what it was like to be with him, to be in the same _room_ as him, to feel the Veil churn and warp around them, desire almost tangible, to the extent that _other_ people, even people without an ounce of magic in them, could sense it.

The realization that this was not to be—that they were not to be united forever—that this was not It for her, the end of the search for a mate—had nearly broken her.  Even to this day, thinking about that moment of realization sent a pang through her, a physical hurt that made her chest tighten and her breath catch and her stomach clench.  But she had survived it—barely, but she had—and she had been with other men and women, _enjoyed_ other lovers—look at Zevran, they had great chemistry and genuinely loved each other, although not in the traditional way…but she always knew that she belonged to Solas, and she would love him until her last breath in this world.

 

“The truth is that we do not know _anything_ about this apostate vigilante.  Whatever the Dalish may be saying—and pardon me if I don’t put a lot of stock in superstitious elf nonsense—this person is obviously extremely dangerous, and we don’t even know whose side he’s on—“

“Excuse me, but this ‘dangerous apostate’ singlehandedly saved hundreds of Orlesian soldiers and civilians—“

“Yes, but let’s not forget that the apostate Anders also appeared to be a good guy when he was running his health clinic in Kirkwall before he _blew up_ the Chantry and everyone in it—“

“Come on, stop, this is _completely different_ —”

“Explain to me how this is different!  The lesson here is apostates are _dangerous_.  There is a reason the Circles exist, and it is to keep mages _in line_.  They are obviously capable of extremely violent acts, and I am sick of this liberal agenda that they deserve freedom—“

“I think you are _completely_ ignoring the fact that this act of terrorism was committed by Venatori, _not_ by a rogue apostate—“

“And who are the Venatori _but_ Tevinter apostates?”

“Now, come on, that’s just not factual—most Tevinter are Circle-educated mages—“

“Which just proves my point that _all mages are dangerous!_ ”

_*click*_

Ellana turned the television off glumly and set her remote down.  It was Wednesday afternoon, and she’d been wandering around her apartment in a daze since the terrorist attack Sunday night.  Zevran had only left her place the day before, at her insistence that she was fine and didn’t need him keeping an eye on her; but the truth was she didn’t know if she was fine or not.  Both the Venatori attack and Fen’Harel’s appearance had shaken her to her very core.  All that had been on television or the radio since Sunday were news stories and talk shows about Venatori, apostates, and the Dalish.  The Dalish insistence that the vigilante was Fen’Harel had initially been ridiculed, but the public had been inundated with information about the Elvhen god nonetheless.  She’d spent the better part of the day getting ready for work in a very slow and half-assed manner.  She’d apply some eyeshadow, then stare at the TV for a half hour…then apply eyeshadow on the other eye, then wander to her balcony and stare at the city for twenty minutes…then back to the TV…then take the eyeshadow off and try a different color…

Ellana resolutely decided to just get her work prep over with and go into work early.  It sure beat wandering around her apartment and _waiting_.  She felt like she couldn’t stand being alone with her thoughts.

 

Two hours later, Ellana was walking through the doors at work and trudging upstairs to the dressing room.  She had no idea if the night would be profitable or not; tragedies like this tended to have two opposite effects on the normal customer base: some of them would want to be home with families and loved ones, and some of them would feel the need to revel in their mortality.  But even if the latter was true for tonight, she didn’t know if she was in the proper mood to take advantage of it.  She felt emotionally lethargic and physically listless; not the best combination for an exotic dancer.

When she went to check in with Varric, he looked at her in surprise.  “You’re like an hour and a half early!”  Then he leaned towards her and asked in a softer, gentler voice.  “How you doing, kid?  You all right?”

She looked at him suspiciously.  “Why, what did you hear?”

Varric looked uneasy for a moment before admitting, “Zevran asked me to keep an eye on you.  Said you were feeling pretty raw after Sunday.”

Ellana shrugged.  “It is what it is.  I have no control over it.”

Varric looked like he was about to say something, then evidently thought better of it.  “Want to go into the rotation now, or do you want to wait until your shift starts?”

Ellana was surprised.  “I have a choice?”  Usually, the deal was that if you were working the floor, you were in the rotation.

Varric gave her an uncharacteristically gentle smile.  “If you don’t want to go on stage, you don’t have to.  I won’t tattle.”

Ellana smiled slightly.  “Then I guess I’ll take you up on it.”

She began wandering the floor.  Isabella caught her eye meaningfully, which Ellana knew meant she wanted to talk, but she had her hands full with a large group at the bar, so it would have to wait.  She approached some customers rather listlessly and was surprised when two of them took her up on her offer for dances.  She made a concerted effort to give them truly good dances, dances that were up to _her_ standards, and the decent tips she got in return (and the fact that both customers ended up wanting more than one dance) put her in a slightly more cheerful mood.  By 7:45, she was feeling nearly herself.  She started towards the DJ booth to let Varric know to add her to the rotation and pick out her songs, but was interrupted when an unexpected person walked into her path.

She stopped dead, shocked, then cried out, “Alistair!” and flung herself at him.  She could not _believe_ he had come in—on a Wednesday night, of all things, and when he had just been in less than a week before.

He caught her and held her to him tightly.  He was dressed more casually than usual: jeans, a button-up shirt, and a leather jacket that felt cool against her cheek as she embraced him.  His arms tightened just a bit before he gently pulled back and looked closely at her face.  “How are you doing?” he asked softly.  Ellana looked at him blankly, and then he admitted, “Zevran called.  He said you were taking the whole thing pretty hard.”

Ellana blinked.  “You came out here on a Wednesday night because Zevran told you I was upset?”

Alistair touched her cheek gently.  “Of course I did.”

Ellana was incredulous.  “But surely—I mean, this is a _huge_ deal, don’t you have tons of official stuff to do about it?”

Alistair smiled ruefully.  “There’s always tons of official stuff that I should be doing, but the great thing about being king is that I get to delegate a lot of it.  And this happened in Orlais, not Ferelden.  Not saying that makes it not a big deal,” he added hastily, “but the truth is there’s not a whole lot of _official_ stuff I can do.  I can pledge support, send assistance with the clean-up, beef up security here, but that’s the majority of it.  The whole thing with the Venatori was being addressed anyway.”  He stopped and looked around.  Nobody appeared to have recognized him yet, and he gave a quiet sigh of relief.

“You can let Varric know you’re coming upstairs.  Zevran already told him you’d be off the rotation for the night.”

Ellana looked at him with narrowed eyes.  “Wait.  How long have you been here?”

Alistair looked slightly abashed.  “Since before you got here.  I was talking with Zevran for a bit, and we wanted to get the room ready as a surprise for you.”

“Oh, Alistair, you didn’t need to—“

He held up a hand.  “Stop it.  I _wanted_ to be here with you.  So let’s go upstairs and cuddle.”

Ellana turned away and went to Varric, a small, wistful smile on her face.  Admittedly, a night of cuddling with Alistair in VIP did sound like the best possible thing at the moment.  She stepped into the VIP booth and patiently waited for Varric to finish his spiel about the girl on stage.  He turned to her after he turned his microphone off and grinned.  “You see him?”

Ellana was surprised.  “You knew that this was all about Alistair?  What, were you all in on it?”

“Well, not Sten.  But, yeah, the rest of us were.”

Ellana huffed.  “Great to know I can trust all my coworkers.”

Varric rolled his eyes.  “I know, I know, you’ve got it so hard, having so many people working together to surprise you.  Now get going.  I never even added you to the rotation.”

Ellana stepped out of the VIP booth and glanced around for Alistair.  He was standing over at the entrance to VIP—and Briala was with him, pressing herself against him and making him look extremely uncomfortable as he tried to step away from her.

Gritting her teeth, Ellana started walking purposefully over, watching as Briala trailed a finger up his chest and said something into his ear.  The look on Alistair’s face went from awkward uncertainty to cold fury in a single second, and he drew himself up to his royal height and said something back to her.   Before Ellana could reach them, Briala had fled, leaving Alistair standing rigidly by himself with the same angry look on his face.

“What happened?” she asked, but he shook his head shortly and didn’t answer.  Taking her hand, he pulled her resolutely upstairs to VIP.

“Alistair—seriously— _slow down_ , Alistair—what is going on?” she gasped as she struggled to keep up with him on their way up the stairs.  He didn’t answer her, looking stonily forwards as they reached the top of the stairs, then down the hallway to their usual room. 

Right before they reached the door to their room, Alistair suddenly stopped, swung around, and spun her to the wall beside the curtain.  Wide-eyed, back pressed against the wall, she looked up at Alistair, who bent his head down so that for one wild moment she was sure he was going to kiss her—but he stopped, his mouth inches from her own.  For a moment, they both stood frozen, both breathing heavily.  Then he shook his head and growled, “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now.  How much I want you.  How much I’ve thought about it, about how you’d look, how you’d sound, how you’d smell, how you’d _feel_ …your skin…” his jaw tensed and he gave a low groan as he looked at her lips, parted in surprise; surprise and desire, because at his words she’d felt lust coiling inside of her.  She was hyper aware of the heat rolling off his body, his chest just inches away from hers; of the smell of him, his aftershave and deodorant and shampoo, and the smell of his _skin_ ; of the sound of his breathing, mixed with her own, and the sound of her own pulse drumming in her ears.  It was a moment fraught with tension, and instinct was about to take over.  She wanted to press herself against him, press her mouth against his…

He took a deep breath and stepped back deliberately, leaving her against the wall.  His eyes were dark as he took in the picture she made—still pressed against the wall, as though he was pinning her there with his gaze, flushed, eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving with her deep breaths.  He stood for a moment, absorbing it, and then spoke brusquely.  “And to answer your question, _what happened_ is that the girl you saw made a rather crude inference about you and me, and suggested that if I allowed her to _join in_ , she’d prove to be more adept at…stuff…than you are.  And _I_ told _her_ that you have quite a bit more self-respect than that, and that maybe if she followed your example she’d be able to get a better type of client.  And I maybe also told her that I’d rather spend five minutes talking to you than a thousand years doing… _stuff_ …in bed with her.  Now let’s go in, we have a surprise for you.”  And he walked through the curtain.

Ellana stayed where she was for a few moments, taking in everything that had just happened.  She felt dazed.  Had that _really_ just happened?  Did she just imagine it?  No, because lust was still thrumming through her veins, so much that she felt light-headed.  She closed her eyes and took several deep, deliberate breaths, centering herself, calming her breathing, slowing her pulse.  When she finally felt closer to normal (meaning she thought she could look at Alistair without throwing herself on top of him), she straightened and went through the curtain. 

She stopped dead, completely surprised, at the change in VIP.  Then she turned to Zevran (who was standing there beaming at her) and crowed delightedly, “You did it!  You finally did it!”

There was a large flat-screen television installed on the wall in the VIP room just opposite the seating.  A compact 5.1 surround sound system had been installed as well, with the speakers painstakingly mounted around the television and behind the sectional at the appropriate height.  Zevran had been talking for years about how he wanted to do this in his better VIP rooms, and allow customers to watch a movie or a game or a fight with his favorite dancer, but he had never pulled the trigger on it.  It looked fantastic.

Zevran patted the speaker nearest him lovingly.  “It took us the better part of three hours to thread the wiring through the walls, but it looks perfect, yes?”

Ellana looked at Alistair, shocked.  “Are you telling me that a former Crow assassin and the King of Ferelden spent the past three hours installing a flat-screen TV and surround sound in the VIP room of a strip club?”

Both Alistair and Zevran looked extraordinarily pleased with themselves.  “And we did it _right_ , too.  I challenge any professional to come in and find fault with it,” Alistair bragged.

Zevran grinned.  “That’s because Alistair spent most of the day researching the process on his iPhone.”

Ellana shook her head, torn between amusement and tenderness.

“And _now_ you and I can have a Lord of the Rings marathon.  Or a Marvel marathon.  Or a Dark Knight marathon.  Whichever you’d prefer,” Alistair added. 

Ellana’s insides quivered and she looked at them both with wide eyes.  Zevran shrugged.  “You needed cheering up.  I thought this would be a good way to do it.”

She felt a little weak at the knees and didn’t really know what to say.  Zevran’s lips quirked at her dazed expression, and he patted Alistair on the shoulder as he made his way out.  “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he said, and before stepping through the curtain, he paused and whispered into Ellana’s ear, “The cameras in here are off for the night, by the way.”  Ellana jerked and looked at him, shocked, but he only chuckled as he left.

Alistair, oblivious to the bombshell Zevran had just dropped in Ellana’s ear—he’d practically given her _permission_ , for fuck’s sake—was happily sorting through the blu-rays stacked on the coffee table.  “Which would you rather do?” he questioned.  “Lord of the Rings?  Marvel?  Dark Knight?  I brought all of them, and Zevran said he’ll keep whatever we don’t watch in his office for next time.”

 _Next time_.  Ellana suddenly felt such warmth, such _ardor_ , for Alistair—this man, the _king_ , who had dropped everything (which probably entailed numerous official duties and responsibilities the likes of which she could hardly imagine) to come to a strip club on a Wednesday afternoon and spend three hours with his friend installing this system in VIP, just so they could spend the evening cuddling and watching her favorite movies—and he was planning on spending more than one night doing it.

She suddenly realized he was staring at her, and she cleared her throat.  “Um…I think Lord of the Rings.”  He smiled at her and promptly popped _The Fellowship of the Ring_ into the blu-ray player. 

“I brought the extended editions, of course.  I know how you are.”  He shrugged out of his leather jacket, laying it over the armrest at the far end of the sofa.  He grabbed one of the loose cushions and made himself a pillow on the corner seat of the sectional, stretching out on his right side so that he lay facing the TV.  There was a blanket, too, so new that she could still see the creases where it had been folded.  He held out an inviting hand, and Ellana took a deep breath.

She shrugged out of the dress she was wearing, and, bending over, undid the straps on her platform shoes, stepping out of them and reducing her height by half a foot.  Clad only in her bra and g-string, she went and lay down snuggled next to Alistair, her back pressed firmly against his chest, sharing his pillow and blanket.  She felt him take a deep breath at the feeling of her nearly naked body pressed against him, but then he seemed to take control of himself and fumbled with the remote to start the movie playing.

She made it nearly an hour into the movie.  It was one of her absolute favorites and never failed to draw her in.  She could’ve happily watched twelve uninterrupted hours of Lord of the Rings, except that usually she didn’t have the very attractive and muscular King of Ferelden snuggled behind her, one strong arm wrapped around her waist, breathing on the back of her neck—which just so happened to be one of Ellana’s _spots_.  The warmth of his breath puffing on her skin, and the sound of it in her ear, was driving her absolutely wild.  It came to the point where she was not even paying attention to the movie, she was so distracted; her eyes stared at the coffee table in front of her and she began to shiver at every breath.  She could feel the tremors racking her body.

Apparently Alistair could feel it too, because Ellana felt the arm he had draped over her waist tense and tighten just a bit.  And was it just her, or was his breathing more controlled, more _deliberate_ —was he _intentionally_ breathing on the back of her neck?  And then he slowly shifted, so that his lips were closer to her ear—the slow puff of his breath in _that_ spot made Ellana shudder with want, and she couldn’t take any more of it.

She rolled onto her back and turned her face towards Alistair, and they both stilled, suddenly realizing how very _close_ they were.  His lips were mere inches from hers.  They gazed at each other, frozen in the moment, which seemed to stretch on…and on…and on…

Ellana made the first move.  She closed the gap and pressed her lips against his.  It seemed to take both of them a moment to realize what was happening, but _then_ —

With a groan, Alistair clutched her tight against him, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist, and he _devoured_ her, lips moving sensuously over hers, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, tongue searching, invading, conquering…

Ellana moaned into his mouth, her own hands roaming over his body, seeking his heat, needing to feel his skin under her palms.  She tugged at his shirt, fingers deftly flicking the buttons open, and then her hands were on his chest, stroking upwards to his broad shoulders.

Alistair tore his mouth from hers with great effort.  “ _Maker_ —Ellana—“ He groaned as she slung one leg over his hips, and unable to help himself, he gripped her with one hand and _rolled_ his hips into her—his erection ground against her center and her head dropped back, eyes rolling back into her head, and she moaned.  She pushed him onto his back and crawled mindlessly on top of him, centering herself above the tent in his jeans—she could feel the heat of him even through the denim—and _pressed_ herself against him.  He gripped her waist with fingers that dug into her skin as she did it again, grinding herself against his erection, riding him, chasing the heat that was blazing through them both—

“ _Fuck_ —Ellana—Maker, if you keep doing that—“

She was mindless, whimpering, frantic, hands scrabbling at his chest, pulling his shirt open.  “Please…Alistair, _please_ …I want…”

He groaned and pulled her head down to him with one hand, lips parting hers with a brutal kiss—his other hand grasped her hip, helping her ride him, guiding her.  The pleasure was radiating through her, throbbing, building with every thrust, bigger and bigger.  This was seriously happening…she was seriously going to…

“Alistair, I’m coming…I’m coming…oh, _gods_ ,” and she buried her face in his neck, smothering the cries that escaped her as the hot, sharp, shock of orgasm slammed through her, brutally sudden.

Alistair growled, both hands flying to her hips to keep her moving against him.  “That’s it…yes… _Maker_ , don’t stop, I’m going to come…“  His hands clutched at her as he pulled her firmly down against him, and he thrust upwards against her wet heat, then groaned, face tense, as he joined her.

When the fog of pleasure faded, Ellana lifted her head from his neck and looked down at him.  They were both flushed, disheveled, panting heavily.  Awkwardness threatened.  What had they just done?  Had they seriously just necked and dry humped each other into orgasm, like two teenagers?

Alistair snorted.  “Well, I was worried about the sexual tension being awkward, but I think we just took care of that.”

Ellana huffed out a laugh and pushed her hair back.  “I can’t believe we just did that.  I can’t believe…”

Alistair’s face grew tender, and he brought one hand up to gently cup her face.  “Hey, none of that.  Don’t think about it like that.  Don’t feel guilty.  This was basically a night off for you.  I wanted to see you, and Zevran took you off the rotation and sent you up here for a movie night.”

Ellana nodded, the tension inside of her easing just a bit.  “I know.”

Alistair smiled.  “Oh, and by the way.  I know you’re an apostate.”       

Ellana sat bolt upright, shocked, face growing white.  Alistair looked surprised at her reaction and, alarmed, sat up with her.  “Sweetheart…don’t look like that… _seriously_ …Maker, what’s wrong?”  Ellana’s eyes were suddenly swimming with tears.  “Don’t cry… _Maker_ , I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d be upset, I thought you’d be _relieved_ …”  Aghast, he clutched her against him, burying her face in his chest, wrapping his arms around her.  “I’ve known since the first day I spent with you.  I didn’t want you to worry about it anymore…I didn’t think it would upset you…”

Ellana squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the sobs that threatened to rack her…in truth, it was a relief to know that he knew, but the _shock_ of it…and after all this time, after all her worry, after _dreading_ the moment she’d have to confess it…

Alistair was beside himself, absolutely horrified.  _He’d made Ellana cry_.  He rocked them back and forth, hands stroking her back, her hair, her arms.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

She breathed deeply, face still buried in his chest, and with great effort, brought herself under control.  After several long moments, she pulled away and looked up at him.  He met her gaze with worried eyes, and he cupped her face with both hands and leaned in to kiss her, slowly, sweetly.  Her eyes drifted shut and she let herself be drawn into the tenderness of it all.

When he finally pulled away, she found that she was gripping his forearms with both hands, and she swayed, overwhelmed.  He brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.  “I know you’ve been worried about all of this, and I didn’t want you to be.  I’ve known since that first day…I could feel it in you…and sometimes, when you’re dancing for me and really in the moment, your fingertips start to spark.”

Ellana was shocked.  “ _What?_ ”

Alistair nodded.  “Yeah, and sometimes your eyes change color…they go from the normal green to like, _green_ green, and they start to glow…”

Ellana was horrified.  “ _Fenedhis_ …I can’t believe…what if a _Templar_ saw that?!  By the gods, I’d be arrested, I can’t _believe_ —“

Alistair chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  It’s only happened a few times, and I think most people wouldn’t even notice…even Templars…you can be pretty distracting when you’re dancing, you know.”

Ellana shook her head.  “It’s stupid, losing control like that…I can’t risk—“

Alistair cupped her face again.  “ _Look at me_.  You do not have to worry about that.  I am not going to let anyone find out, and if they do, I’m not going to let _anything_ happen to you.  I promise.”  He forced her to hold his gaze until she reluctantly nodded.  “Good.”  He kissed her again.  “Now, as much as I would like to shove you back on this couch and fuck you until you scream—“ Ellana shuddered—“I am going to resist, and we are going to save any of that stuff for the future, and we are going to continue with our movie night. But first," and he stood up with a wince, "I'm going to go clean myself up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the smutty stuff in the strip club is pretty heavy artistic license, cause that would NEVER have happened between me and one of my customers. Then again, I never had Alistair Theirin snuggled up next to me.


End file.
